


It's Up That I Fell

by zuzallove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco Malfoy, Dark Magic, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Professor Potter, Romance, Slow Burn, Top Harry Potter, Unspeakable!Draco, Violence, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-13 14:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13572633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzallove/pseuds/zuzallove
Summary: 13 years after the war, Professor Potter and the other teachers finally get the hint and realise that Hogwarts is not exactly a safe place for students. The Ministry sends a specialist to purge the castle from all Dark Magic. And of course, it just had to be Malfoy.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry stood in front of the window. His classroom had a pretty good view of the Great Lake. On the surface, he saw a tentacle of the Giant Squid emerging slowly from the water, as it often happened whenever the beast felt like enjoying a rare ray of sunshine. Then, the tentacle convulsed slightly and disappeared under the dark water. Harry frowned.

_It’s happening again._

He turned around just in time to avoid a Jelly-Brain Jinx. He ducked and promptly cast a Protego in order to shield the students behind him.

“Mr. Poole, I swear to Merlin…”

“It’s not my fault, Professor! Wanda jinxed my wand!”

“How very plausible,” Harry replied without missing a beat. “I would say I’m just as convinced as the first four hundred or so times you’ve fed that lie to me before.”

Wanda giggled, covering her mouth with her hands. Poole had the audacity to smile.

“Stop waving it around like it’s an old sock. Try to aim for once,” Harry sighed. Sometimes, he swore, he almost felt like he was becoming Snape. Thankfully his students hated him a tad less, or so he hoped.

“Miss Clarice, flawless technique, now just try to work on your stance. Mr. Hibbert, easy with that, we don’t want another missing limb case. Madam Pomfrey threatens to retire every time that happens.”

His class was good. He was immensely proud of them. As they were now at the end of their seventh year, they were going to be the first students he had taught from their first day to the last. He had had a chance to follow their progress and channel their magic in a way he had never experienced before. This was the Gryffindor/Slytherin class: the Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw one was good as well, but not as good as them. These students showed particular promise.

“Professor Potter, there’s something wrong with my Protego…”  
Harry went around giving out instructions and correcting movements, always trying to praise those who did particularly well.

“I swear, my wand’s not working right…!”  
“Mr. Poole, tell me: Do you want me to age prematurely? Do you?”

“Just take a look, please!”  
Harry arched an eyebrow, but then walked over and took the wand in its hands.  
“There is something wrong with it. It’s almost vibrating…” He assumed it was because it was actually a dummy wand – damn the Weasleys. It’s all fun and games until you go and decide to become a Professor of all things. It had been years since Poole pulled that trick - the wand turning into a rubber duck or a dirty, smelly sock – oh, memories.  It just kept vibrating and shooting sad, broken spurts of sparkles. Again, Harry frowned.

“You didn’t happen to…” and he pointed at the cabinet at the far end of the class. From the vaguely guilty look on Poole’s face, he reckoned he _did_ happen to. Everyone knew not to go near the cabinet at the far end of the class. Harry had tried his absolute best to figure out what was wrong with it; what it was that made everything that touched it malfunction. Whatever it was, it was so powerful that just a touch gave you a headache and stomach pains, and objects that barely brushed against it immediately started to act strangely.

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“My wand flew out of my hands! It landed against it and then fell on the floor, I thought it was safe, it barely touched it…”

“It flew?”

Poole stared at his feet.

“I might’ve thrown it.”

“Because…?”  
“Because… I’m an idiot?”  
Harry growled, and Poole backed up. For the first time in seven years, he had managed to finally get a reaction out of him. It didn’t feel as good as he had hoped.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” Harry explained, suddenly feeling exhausted. “But nothing that comes in contact with that cabinet ever works again perfectly. I would tell you not to throw your wand around, because you’re a wizard, not a monkey flinging its feces, but after almost seven years it would be redundant. I’m afraid you’re going to have to get a new wand.”

Poole paled. Harry understood him all too well. He did not come from a wealthy family and losing your first wand, for a wizard, truly was like losing a limb. He felt sorry for him, but there was nothing he could do. The last thing that had come in contact with the cabinet had been a sheet. Harry had put it there with McGonagall, after deciding together that if they could not destroy or purge the cabinet (and they had tried everything they knew, which, in McGonagall’s case, amounted to quite a lot) they would have to at least cover it to avoid students or Professors bumping against it. The sheet, it turned out, had been a bad idea. The first one spontaneously combusted and burned a poor first year student, and the second time they tried, the sheet started to Levitate from the cabinet and then attempted to wrap itself around Harry, like someone was charming it. They had given up trying to cover it or remove it after that.

“But this is insane! How can we even practise magic in a classroom that contains that… that thing?!” Poole shouted. The whole class was now looking at them, their lesson forgotten and their wands down. Wanda came forward to try and comfort her friend, but he was having none of it.

“How can we all study and live in a castle that’s infested by Dark Magic?!” Poole continued, visibly distressed. “I’m sorry, but how can you not be doing anything about it, Professor Potter?”

Harry fixed him with a long, hard look.

“What makes you think we’re not doing anything about it, Mr. Poole?”

 

***

 

Outside the gates of Hogwarts, a tall figure stood facing the immense castle. He was flanked by two gigantic pieces of luggage, which quietly Levitated at his sides. The figure touched his wand to the iron gates, and they suddenly creaked as they slowly disappeared. As he walked through the winding path that led to Hogwarts, he couldn’t help thinking he was finally home.

 

***

 

Back in the staff room in the castle, a spirited debate was taking place.

Professor McGonagall said, “I’m quite aware of the current dangers inside the castle, believe me, Professor Longbottom.”

“It’s getting out of hand,” Neville said, looking almost nauseous. “Headmistress, last night one of the students went inside the Prohibited Section of the greenhouse, as a dare, and I barely managed to get her out before the Twilight Bloom got a hold of her…”  
“I do hope you punished her,” McGonagall replied briefly. Neville blushed.

“Sure did.” Not even Binns bought it. Everyone groaned aloud. “I’m sorry!” Neville justified himself. “I thought the fright was enough of a lesson, she was traumatised, I’m telling you…”

“Are you making any progress?” Harry asked, wanting to change the subject. His friend was flustered enough already.

“Not really,” Neville admitted with a sad shrug. “Most of the flora inside the Prohibited Section is too dangerous for me to even touch. I wrote to Professor Sprout several times, but she told me the same thing that I keep reading in the Prohibited Section of the library: Leave that area and those plants alone. They’re too dangerous to control or even get rid of.”

McGonagall seemed unsatisfied by the response. “Surely our library can provide you with some solutions,” she replied, arching her thin eyebrow. Harry thought they were dangerously close to a lip-pursing. McGonagall was terrifying when she pursed her lips.

“I’m sorry, Headmistress, but no,” Neville quietly explained. “Some of the books are a danger themselves, as you know. The others tend to encourage growing Dark flora, and explain only how to care for it to make it stronger. There are almost no mentions of how to destroy it. To date, I’ve only managed to put to sleep a couple of Dancing Stranglers and a particularly nasty species of poisonous flowers. But I must admit: I have no idea what I’m doing.”

The silence that followed was heavy with discouragement.

“Well, surely it doesn’t matter, does it?” said Professor Flitwick with his acute, piercing voice. “The specialist ought to arrive any minute now. Isn’t that true, Headmistress?”

“Indeed,” McGonagall replied, sitting back in her high chair and bringing her hands together in front of her mouth. Harry thought she resembled Dumbledore more and more as each year passed. “Let’s just hope he is all that was promised and more. I will not have it said that Hogwarts is a dangerous place for its students.”

Harry privately thought that, to be honest, that ship had sailed. He still remembered the Whomping Willow. The Devil’s Snare. _Fluffy_. And that was still in times of _peace_.

“I saw the Giant Squid today,” Harry added. “Its tentacles are convulsing again. Whatever it is that’s causing disruption in the Great Lake, I think it’s getting stronger.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” McGonagall replied briefly. Harry was under the impression that she didn’t want to cause even more panic amongst the teaching staff, but a smart woman like her must have already come to the same conclusions Harry had. No one dared to voice them, because the mere thought was repulsive, but as a former Auror and Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry believed it was his job to assume the worst. And Voldermort had set up shop at Hogwarts for almost a year: it wasn’t that unlikely…

“I expect all of you to cooperate fully with the specialist the Ministry sent,” Minerva continued. “He comes highly recommended from Minister Shacklebolt himself. He has been helping them finding and destroying Dark Artefacts left from the war.”  
Harry hoped this bloke knew what he was doing. Hogwarts’ long and tormented history had left the castle swimming in Dark Magic, magic no one knew how to deal with. Dumbledore would have known, Harry believed, but after all, in all his time as Headmaster Dumbledore had not exactly been famous for his search of Dark Magic within the castle.

Professor Hooch opened her mouth, probably to add something sinister about her brooms and how sometimes she found them fighting and hitting each other with no good reason, when a loud knock on the door made them all turn.

“Come in,” McGonagall said.

Before he saw anything else, Harry saw the hair. That hair…

“Malfoy!”

It wasn’t Harry who said it, because Harry had been too busy gaping. It had been Neville, in a shocked, faintly horrified tone.

“Why, Longbottom,” Draco replied without missing a beat. “It’s good to see some things never change. How you became a Professor is beyond me…”

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Harry had found his voice again. And he was basically growling. After all these years, to come back and act like the exact piece of shit he was before and during the war…

“Shut up, all of you,” McGonagall cut them short. She stood up and went to shake Malfoy’s hand, who hesitantly shook back. He probably knew he was never her favourite, Harry thought, and immediately felt childish for it. “Mr. Malfoy, thank you for coming. I trust you find your accommodations suitable?”

“Very much, thank you,” Malfoy replied. He was surprisingly polite, Harry thought, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. How could Malfoy be a specialist of Dark Magic and its removal?

“I want you to know that we are very grateful for your help. The teaching staff in its entirety will fully cooperate with you.” She turned to face the long table and her eyes locked with Harry’s. “I can assure you of that.”

Harry felt like a scolded child.

“May I ask what are your credentials?” he directed at Malfoy. McGonagall’s stare became even harder. His tone was rebellious at best and he realised he should probably uncross his arms and stop shooting daggers at the man, but it was like muscle memory. He couldn’t help it.

“I’m sorry, Potter, I didn’t realise you were in charge here,” Malfoy replied sarcastically, his stupid face looking as smug and self-satisfied as it had when they were still students. The years had been surprisingly kind to him. His sharp features had softened somewhat, he had a good 3 inches on Harry and his almost silvery hair was now longer and styled in a gentle, less-constricting manner. He was starting to take more after his mother than his father. Harry felt almost offended by that: he too had filled out some, and finally got his hair problem under control, but he basically hadn’t changed since the war.

McGonagall looked between them as they exchanged death glares – Neville was staring ahead at the wall like he couldn’t believe he had to tolerate Malfoy _yet again_ – and then opted for a mitigating approach.

“I know some people in this room have… history,” she started. “But Mr. Malfoy has proven himself extremely useful to the Ministry. His personal knowledge and research have helped the Ministry get rid of artefacts that have plagued our community for years, and he was in charge of the Travers Purge.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. The Travers Purge had been an excruciatingly long and hard endeavour, as the Ministry had discovered in the Travers’ mansion an amount of Dark Magic and artefacts that was probably unparalleled in the history of magic. It had taken almost 3 years to finally declare the place clean again. He had followed the story in the Prophet, but he was sure Malfoy’s name had never been mentioned. In fact, he had been wondering what Malfoy had been up to for the last 13 years, especially as Hermione constantly saw him at the Ministry, but did not know herself what he was doing. Now that he thought about it, she had always been quite vague on the subject, but as an Unspeakable, he suddenly found it hard to believe that she did not know something that should be open information. Unless…

“You’re an Unspeakable,” Harry blurted out of the blue. Malfoy calmly looked at him and said nothing. Harry interpreted it as confirmation. That Hermione and her godforsaken secrecy…

“I expect that piece of information to remain confidential,” McGonagall snapped. “Mr. Malfoy’s privacy will be protected at all costs. Students will be informed that he is a private specialist lending us his expertise, and the teaching staff will take the secret to their tombs.” She looked at each of them for a few seconds, but they all nodded and murmured their assent. Harry pointedly stared at his joined hands, but he knew he would never betray a Ministry’s secret like that. Besides, he may not like the man, but they needed him. Hermione would get an earful, though.

“Thank you all for your discretion,” Malfoy started. “I assure you all that I’m more than qualified for the task, and I intend to leave this castle without a trace of dark magic in it.”  
Harry felt more and more suspicious. He had no idea Malfoy could sound so _professional_ and _calm_.  He thought he saw Professor Trelawney even swoon a little bit.

“How long will it take?” Harry asked. He still hadn’t managed to tone down his rebellious stance. McGonagall sent him a warning look.

“To know that I would have to make an inspection,” Malfoy replied, clearly forcing himself to sound polite. Harry wished he could manage the same. “Which I will begin tomorrow. I expect the inspection alone will require a couple of weeks. The schoolyear will end on June 30th, is that correct, Headmistress?”  
“That is correct,” McGonagall nodded.

“Then I assume most of the purging will take place over the summer, when the students aren’t here. It’s usually quite a nasty process, best done without children in the way.”

“Agreed,” Flitwick said enthusiastically. Harry felt himself paling. It was May 10th. That meant Malfoy would be there for at least 5 months. Or _more_.

“Very well, Mr. Malfoy. We won’t keep you up further,” McGonagall said, glancing at the giant moving clock on the wall. The staff rose and started to yawn and stir. It was almost midnight and they all had classes in the morning. “You are very welcome in every corner of the castle, as we agreed, including the classrooms and the staff rooms. We would also like to invite you to eat your meals with us at the High Table, of course. If you are too swamped in work to attend, however, our kitchen staff will be happy to provide you with a tray in your rooms.”

Malfoy nodded, and Harry groaned internally. As he had been the last one to be hired, the only place left at the high table was at his right. This had to be some sort of joke.

“Thank you, Headmistress. I will begin tomorrow at first light. Good night to you all,” he said courteously. Harry thought he saw him looking in his direction for a second, but then he turned and closed the door behind him. Harry rose as well and prepared to go and see if Hermione was still awake. He felt like shouting at her via Floo. He exchanged a despaired look with Neville – the only one other than him that had started to have unpleasant flashbacks the moment that stupid blond head had appeared in the doorway – and made for his rooms when McGonagall stopped him.

“Professor Potter, a word?”

Harry had never stopped feeling weird about that. McGonagall calling him a Professor. He nodded and let her drag him to her office as the rest of the staff room emptied out in a series of rushed goodnights and see you tomorrows.

“Quidditch Cup,” she said to the Gargoyles that stood sentry to her office door. The Gargoyles obediently produced the spiral staircase. Once at her desk, Harry almost fell on one of the chairs – just wood and no cushions at all, he felt like she did it on purpose – and prepared himself for a good scolding.

“Harry,” she started immediately. “I realise this situation is exceptional.”

First name. _That bad, uh?_

“I’m sorry, Minerva. I’m not proud of how I’m behaving. It’s just that… there’s a lot of old stuff coming up,” he admitted quietly. He thought it best to just be honest.

She looked at him with a puzzled look. “Have a biscuit.”

Again with those biscuits. Harry didn’t even like ginger. He reluctantly took one and gave it a bite. Awful. But he knew she would not relent, and frankly, he wanted to go to bed.

“What I would like to know,” she started again, “is this: is this belligerence coming from old rivalry or do you believe that Mr. Malfoy is still secretly fascinated by the Dark Arts?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Why are you asking?”

She sighed. “Have another biscuit.” For Merlin’s sake. Harry indulged her again, hoping to speed it along. Between the uncomfortable chair and the horrible biscuit force-feeding he was starting to think that this was an interrogation. “Read this.”

Harry took a letter in his hands, frowning. He recognised immediately Shacklebolt’s neat writing.

“ _Dear Minerva,_

_In response to your letter, I have decided to send you one of our Unspeakables, highly specialised in purging Dark Artefacts and with a vast amount of experience, despite his relatively young age. I should warn you, though, that this specialist is Draco Malfoy. I know Mr. Malfoy’s past is somewhat dubious, but I can assure you that in the last thirteen years he has been of tremendous help to the Ministry and that he has passed every single loyalty test we have submitted to him. I must admit we could not have successfully carried out the Travers Purge without him in charge._

_I am aware of the history he shares with some members of your staff, but I am confident that you will explain to Harry that Mr. Malfoy comes under my personal recommendation, and that I can assure him that he has left the Dark Arts behind him for good. Tell him that he has made it almost his life mission to rid our community of them. He has shown singular focus in this._

_Hope this finds you well._

_Best regards,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt._ ”

 

Harry put down the letter. “Why are you showing me this?”

He felt vaguely irritated that Kingsley had felt like she needed to somehow persuade Harry that Malfoy had become good. Did everyone believe he was an unruly child needing to be scolded? He felt like he was 15 again.

“Because,” McGonagall eyed him warily, like she knew he would react badly, “you have shown obsessive tendencies before, when it comes to Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry spluttered. “But…!” he protested. “Did Dumbledore tell you that?”

She did not reply.

“I wouldn’t call it obsessive, not by a long shot,” he tried to explain. He knew he was getting angry and that didn’t help his case. “And I wasn’t even wrong, actually.” Nice going, very mature, he congratulated himself.

“The point is, Harry,” she placated him, raising a hand. “I need your fully cooperation. This is quite serious, as you know. You are a former Auror and our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. You and Mr. Malfoy must work together more than anyone in this castle. I can’t have you helping him and investigating at the same time. Do you understand?”  
“I think you’re forgetting,” Harry replied, irritated. “that I helped Malfoy escape conviction.”

She nodded. “A fact everyone is puzzled by to this day.”

Harry knew that. Ron himself hadn’t had a clue why he had done it. Hermione had looked at him and said nothing, but, as always, she looked like she knew more than what she was telling.

“He saved my life,” he said. The fight had left him.

After a beat of silence, Minerva sighed. “I see.”  
Harry shrugged. He was tired of discussing it. “I don’t think Malfoy is an undercover Dark Wizard. I will cooperate. But I won’t take orders from him.”

She seemed to be looking for traces of insincerity in his words. Apparently satisfied, she rose and adjusted her robes. “Very well, then. I’ll let you sleep.”  
Harry rose as well and made for the door. He felt bone-deep weary. “Oh, and Harry…”

“Yes, Headmistress?”

“Have another biscuit.”

_For the love of…_

_***_

 

 

“Harry, I understand you’re upset. But to be honest, right now you’re being a bit of a jerk.”

“I’m not saying you should have broken the biggest rule of your department, but the rule is about keeping secret what you do, not your job title!”

Hermione sighed. In the background, Harry could hear Ron trying to get Rose into a clean diaper – and failing, if her screams were anything to go by. Hermione kept pointing her wand around, cleaning up the kitchen and making toys and silverware fly into drawers and chests.  

“Malfoy’s work takes him outside of the Ministry. It would have been impossible to hide what he does, so the only logical course of action was to hide who he did it for. It’s all very straightforward, Harry.”

“And what about Anders?” Harry retorted, not ready to give up the fight yet. “Everyone knows he works at the Department of Mysteries and most of his work takes place at Saint Mungo’s.”

“Anders is 94 years old, Harry! The secret probably got out years ago and now there’s no taking it back, but Malfoy’s at the beginning of his career, and… oh, now what?”

Ron knelt in front of the fireplace. On his hip, he held a two-year old toddler with red hair and quite a disgruntled expression. It looked like he finally managed to dress her. “Mate, I know you’re upset, one thinks he’s done with blond gits for the rest of his life and then here the git comes along _again_ …”

“Ronald, language!” Ron ducked to avoid a wooden spoon.

“I swear, Hermione, you’re turning into my mother. Anyway, just don’t let him be a wanker to you. Or anyone else. His job is on the line, so that probably means he has to play nice as well.”

“Speaking of Molly, Harry, we need the fireplace,” Hermione now had her Unspeakable outfit on, her hair tight in a high bun. “We need to Floo Rose to her, so we can go to work. I’m late as it is.”

“She’s not, she's supposed to start at 9, she just like to be there earl-OW, Hermione, Merlin.”  
“I won’t keep you,” Harry said, resigned. “Rose, give us a kiss.”

Ron leant her down so she could put her sticky lips against Harry’s cheek. She kissed him with a resounding smack and a squeal of delight.

“Bwoom!”

“No, no, Rosie, Uncle Harry will fly with you in the weekend,” Hermione replied, taking her into her arms and adjusting her clothes – Ron always left her socks dangling a bit. “Anyway, Harry, I don’t think you need to worry. I’ve dealt with Malfoy personally in the last years and he has always been pleasant enough. I think he’ll keep himself in check.

“Imagine that,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ll go now, I have a class. Bye Rosie. Bye you two.”

“Bye!” Hermione and Ron sang in unison. They were that kind of couple.

Harry took his head outside of the fireplace and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he was being too dramatic. He hadn’t seen Malfoy in years, and the last time he did see him he was pretty much a broken man. Harry never forgot his face when, during his trial, Harry had suddenly come in, ready to testify. Before his entrance, he had looked at his feet and admitted to every single accusation. As he testified, Malfoy’s eyes never left him for an instant, like he was afraid of retaliation, of revenge for all those years of bullying and teasing and pranks. But Harry’s testimony was what kept him and his mother out of Azkaban. Of course, the same couldn’t be said for Lucius, but after all, Lucius truly did deserve it.

He put on his teaching robes and applied his usual morning Charms: his wand started to precisely and cleanly shaving him, while his hair flopped down into a mess, but a semi-orderly mess at least.

Once he was ready, he made for the Great Hall. It was Sausage Tuesday.

The moment he arrived, he felt immediately better. It was still early, and the Hall was mostly empty. The teachers were all there, but Malfoy wasn’t amongst them. He watched as McGonagall neatly cut her sausages into tiny pieces before eating them, and as – like every morning – the new Care of Magical Creatures teacher slipped a generous dose of Calming Draught into her morning tea.

“Rough day?” he asked her, reaching for a platter of sausages. She turned to look at him with wild eyes, before ignoring him and starting to drink her tea in long gulps.

Harry missed Hagrid, but after the war he felt he had done well to retire. He continued to live on school premises, and Harry went to see him weekly. Still, every teacher that had come after him had been a bit of a mess. It wasn’t easy dealing with Thestrals.

Harry finally started to relax and tucked in his breakfast. He had four classes and he was looking forward to giving a class of second-year students their very first lesson on the Expelliarmus.

Fortunately, the Gryffindor and Slytherin seven-year students didn’t have DADa today: he wasn’t ready to see Poole’s sad, discomforted eyes as he tried to make his wand work again. And, of course, just as he was getting ready to enjoy a nice meal, Malfoy made his appearance. He was wearing simple dark robes and was carrying a piece of luggage with his wand. His hair was, like last night, perfectly tousled. He had hoped he would have taken a tray to his rooms, too snobbish to share a seat with the other professors, but apparently, he had been wrong.

“Morning, everyone.” He looked around and bowed his head when the others responded with a polite greeting. He scanned the seats, and probably noticed he was stuck next to Harry. If he didn’t like it, he was careful not to show it. “Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry replied, wary. He passed him the sausages and Malfoy accepted them. He hoped that would be the last of their interactions, but…

“Can I ask you a question?” He wasn’t exactly whispering, but over the noise of students chatting and the clutter of plates and silverware, his voice wouldn’t carry over to anyone but Harry.

“If you must.” Harry knew he looked hostile. He tried to mask it.  
“Do we still hate each other?”

The question was so weird that Harry did a double-turn. From her seat, McGonagall turned to look at them, but then probably decided to leave them alone.

“What do you mean?” Harry furiously whispered.

“I mean…” Malfoy began, spreading butter on his toast. “That our relationship has been… less than ideal, in the past. I apologise for that, if that makes any difference. I just want to know if we can bury the hatchet and focus on the task at hand or if I have to constantly look over my shoulder.”

Harry smiled. Typical of Malfoy. Act all mature and innocent and make him look like he was the one who made too big a deal out of it. So that if it got out that they were at each other’s throat, McGonagall would blame him.

“You didn’t seem to think so during your trial,” he snapped, watching his face closely for possible reactions. Malfoy was a statue of salt.

“Yes, thank you for that.” He kept eating his breakfast like nothing ever happened, and Harry resumed eating his as well.

“Just so you know,” he started again, never raising his eyes from his plate. “I have no interest in fighting with you. So long as you can be civil, I will be too.”

“Splendid. Then can we schedule a visit to your classroom?” Malfoy didn’t look at him either.

“Just come by whenever,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “I basically live there anyway.”

“Good, then I’ll come by after lunch.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Oh, he was looking forward to seeing him deal with that hellish cabinet.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had just been about to close the classroom and head to dinner – after a very long day -when someone knocked at the door.

“Come in,” he said. And, of course, Malfoy had decided to come just when it was most inconvenient.

“May I?”  
“Please,” Harry responded, waving a hand. “Make yourself at home.”

Malfoy entered, carrying his usual black suitcase. Harry wanted to sit at his desk, tired from being on his feet all day, but he was curious to see what the inspection would entail.

“So, what are you…”

“Silence, please.”

Harry snapped his jaws shut, already irritated. _What an insufferable…_

And then Malfoy placed himself at the centre of the room and started making incantations. His wrist worked his wand in complicated, elegant movements, as he murmured in a low voice charms Harry did not recognise. It went on for at least ten minutes, and just when he was starting to think it wasn’t working – almost hoped for it, really – Malfoy closed his eyes and lowered his wand. When he opened them again, he went straight for the cabinet.

“There are two things wrong with this room,” he said, and then squatted to look at the cabinet at eye level. Harry most definitely did not notice his arse. “One is this cabinet – this is pure evil, I could basically feel that coming in. The other one is on that window by the horrid portrait of a… salsa-dancing Troll?” he pointed at the window Harry never managed to open, disgusted by the frankly horrible picture. Harry had no idea which Headmaster or Headmistress had filled the castle with portraits of Trolls attempting to do some kind of dance and the fools who tried to teach them, but whoever it was, they seemed to have really weird taste. “It’s sealed shut by a charm that technically doesn’t fall under the category of Dark Magic, but if one tries to force it open they might get severely burned.” Harry knew that all too well. “Easy to remove, though. This cabinet, on the other hand…”

He turned and looked around it. “Don’t touch it,” Harry warned him.  
Malfoy scoffed. “I didn’t get this far by touching things that are drenched in Evil Magic, Potter.” He took out his wand again and started murmuring another charm.  
“I was just saying!” Harry replied defensively. He walked closer and leant against one of the desks. A floating red cloud came out of Malfoy’s wand and deposited itself around the cabinet, like the mist inside a Remembrall. Malfoy frowned. The cloud turned green, making him frown even more.

“So, what do you think it could be?” Harry said, trying to make conversation – and not because he was damn curious, obviously.  
Malfoy didn’t answer immediately. He opened his luggage and took out a strange looking object, like a wand, but made of metal. He left it on the floor and the object started to almost scan the room, sending intermittent waves of red light. Apparently unsatisfied with the response, Malfoy took out another object.

“I’m not sure, but I have a couple of ideas.” He went around the cabinet again. “What have you tried so far?”

Harry scratched his chin. “Well, first we tried to remove it, but nothing worked. We thought it might have been a Permanent Sticking Charm, but Flitwick’s quite adept at removing those and he couldn’t. Then we tried this spell McGonagall knew, something called a Permanent Ban Hex, but nothing. So we tried to analyse it, but came up with nothing. We put a sheet on it to avoid students touching it, but the first one burst into flames and the second one tried to attack me.”

Malfoy looked baffled, and a tiny bit amused. Harry didn’t like it. “The sheet… attacked you?”

Harry scowled. “Yes, Malfoy, a sheet attacked me. It tried to wrap itself around me.” He knew how stupid that sounded and somehow found himself wishing he had formulated it in a slightly more heroic manner.

“That’s strange.”

Harry scoffed. Strange was a euphemism.

“So… still hate Muggles?”

Malfoy finally, finally turned to look at him. Harry had the distinct impression that his poker face was starting to come off. He looked positively bewildered. He raised his eyebrows, as if to say “Really? This? Now?’” To which Harry replied: “Just, you know. Making conversation.”

Malfoy pursed his lips. It was immensely enjoyable to finally see him act as a human. “You of all people should know that I’ve faced the consequences of stupid childhood mistakes.”

“I don’t, really,” Harry retorted. “All I know is that the war hit you hard and that towards the end you weren’t such a big fan of Voldemort.” He noticed Malfoy still shivered a bit at the mention of that name. “That doesn’t mean your beliefs have changed.”

Malfoy kept analysing the cabinet, sending one charm after the other. He studiously avoided Harry’s eyes. “Well, then, rest assured. I no longer think Muggles are scum.”

“Good,” Harry nodded.

“But I still am proud of my heritage,” Malfoy continued. This time, he turned and looked Harry dead in the eyes. His expression was serious and determined. “I still am a proud Malfoy and a proud Slytherin. I’m not ashamed of that.”

Harry held his stare for a second: he couldn’t figure out whether that was a challenge or a simple statement. Why would Malfoy feel like he needed to point that out? It’s not like Harry hated Slytherins.  
“Ok,” he said simply. “Nothing wrong with that.”

Malfoy seemed a bit surprised, but carried on with his work. “So you don’t think all Slytherins are evil?” he asked, almost casually.

“Of course not,” Harry shrugged. “I teach Slytherin students. I meet with your Aunt Andromeda on a monthly basis. Snape was a hero. I was even almost sorted in Slytherin myself.”

This time, Malfoy was so shocked he actually dropped the instrument he was holding. Harry caught it quickly with a Levitating charm and then promptly flew it back into Malfoy’s hands.

“You were what?”

“It’s true,” Harry explained, a bit self-conscious. “The Sorting Hat was torn. I asked to be put in Gryffindor, but it still believed Slytherin would suit me best. Dumbledore would probably say that it was because of the piece of Voldemort still in me…” Malfoy shuddered again. “but, you know, he also said that he believed we Sort students too early.”

Malfoy took back the object and continued with his inspection. His sleeves rolled up, his hair still perfectly tousled, he bent a little to take a closer look to the cabinet.

“I’d have never thought it” he murmured. “Saint Potter… a Slytherin.”

Harry felt annoyed at the mention of the old nickname, but then Malfoy smiled, and it looked genuine. He found himself smiling too, a bit.

“Can’t imagine you as a Gryffindor, though,” he added, mischievous.

“Oh, Merlin, no,” Malfoy replied. His voice came out strangled. “It’s not for me. Still. You gave me quite a shock.”

“Why did you think I hated Slytherins?”  
“Just a hunch. Let me do this one last test…”

Malfoy walked back to the centre of the room. He closed his eyes and started to chant a strange formula. It sounded like Welsh to Harry. Suddenly, a blue thread came out of the tip of Malfoy’s wand. It danced for a second in the air, and then went and wrapped itself tightly around the cabinet. It glowed brighter and brighter for a minute, but the cabinet seemed to somehow fight it. Finally, the thread convulsed and fell onto the floor, unravelled. Malfoy made it disappear with a disappointed look on his face.

“Well…” he said. “I’ll add all this to the list. Tomorrow I’ll inspect your office and rooms, if you don’t mind. And then next week I’ll move to the upper floors.”

“Aren’t you going to unseal that window?” Harry asked.

“No, those kinds of hexes have a tendency to fight back. I’ll remove them all during the summer” Malfoy explained. “For now, just do what you have done. Keep the students from it. Try to contain the damage.”

“Great,” Harry replied. They walked to the door together, Malfoy Levitating his suitcase on his side. Harry locked the classroom door behind them.

“I never did truly thank you for your testimony, did I?” Malfoy randomly asked. Harry turned to reply, but he had already gone around the corner. 

Harry shook his head. He had to admit. Malfoy seemed changed. Still, he didn’t have to like him.

 

***

 

As it turned out, life with Malfoy in the castle was… nothing different.

Three weeks had gone by since his arrival, and while Harry would never admit this out loud, he had kept an eye on him. For investigative purposes, obviously, and nothing else.

Malfoy’s routine bordered on the obsessive: every morning he ate toast and drank a single cup of tea and a single cup of pumpkin juice, in a very precise order (tea, toast, juice). For lunch he always chose a main course and a light accompaniment of vegetables. What was funny to Harry – he didn’t know why, but he found it funny – was that Malfoy had the biggest sweet tooth ever. Whatever the pudding presented, he never failed to eat at least two servings. Treacle tart, check. Sponge cake, yes, please. Pumpkin pasties, at least three. He knew when they were in school together that he received weekly packages of sweets from home, but he always thought that was more for showing off and because he was spoiled rotten rather than as a grant to an actual request. But everywhere he went, Malfoy always had sweets in his pocket. One time, when he was inspecting the Great Hall – three evil charms there – Harry even saw him sucking on a Sugar Quill, which he hadn’t had since he was a teenager.

The inspection was still ongoing. Malfoy said it was taking him longer because he found much more than he was expecting. Harry accompanied him occasionally – their attitude towards one another always polite, if not a bit strained – and had seen that the Greenhouse alone took almost a week. They both had almost been strangled by a particularly vicious African Green Choker.

In general, Malfoy’s behaviour was nothing short of… good, Harry thought. Always polite to teachers and students alike. Even gentlemanly, if he counted that time he helped a first year repair her messenger bag as she cried and tried to salvage her books from a broken bottle of ink. Harry had stared, lurking behind a corner – old habits die hard – as he quietly sucked the ink away with his wand and repaired the tear in the bag, promptly disappearing around the other end of the corridor before the girl could thank him properly. He even left her a Chocolate Frog.

He had no idea what to think. He knew he was no longer the entitled little monster he had been in school, he knew the war had taught him a hard lesson – but could people really change so drastically?

That weekend they would have a Hogsmeade trip. All the students were abuzz, as they always were before a Hogsmeade trip. The teaching staff, as usual, had planned to go as well, have a pint or two and meanwhile check on the students and made sure they behaved. McGonagall was the only exception; she always chose to remain at the castle ever since she had become Headmistress.

Harry had overheard Flitwick inviting Malfoy – “Nonsense, my dear boy, we would be delighted to have you. You’re one of us now!” – and though he was loath to admit it, he was looking forward to seeing Malfoy in a less controlled environment, maybe even with a little bit of alcohol in him. If he even came, that is.

“Now, please, form a regular line” Harry begged his students once again. They were all chatting excitedly and forming small groups instead of the orderly double-row line McGonagall demanded. She would be watching them from a window, no doubt. Harry did not want to make her purse her lips. “I will not be repeating myself!” he shouted, and the students immediately turned and complied. Harry didn’t shout very often. Satisfied, he proceeded to escort them from the castle to the village.

“Mr. Poole, I’m warning you, if I see you trying to sneak in to the Hog’s Head again there will be consequences.”

Poole smiled and acted all innocent. Ever since he had gotten that new wand, he had grown even more moronic. Harry thought of Fred with a pang. He was glad Ron was still working with George.

“Oh, and Miss Mahoney, the Headmistress informed me that upon returning to the castle you will be searched for love potions and other Weasley products. We don’t want another incident, do we?”

The Mono Apocalypse. Madam Pomfrey had almost torn her hair out.

Claire Mahoney just giggled and crossed her heart with her fingers. Harry smiled.

Once they arrived at the gates of the village, Harry cleared his throat.

“Well, you’re on your own from here. Have fun. Responsibly,” he added, shooting a warning look to all of them.

In a chorus of “Bye, Professor!” and “See you later!” they all scurried away. Harry sighed. He really wanted something to drink, but it was eleven AM.

“Neville?” he called. Neville was waiting for him in front of the Three Broomsticks.

“Hi, Harry.”

Together they went around a little bit, both checking in on the students and doing some shopping for themselves. Harry bought new quills and a new broomstick polish – new formula, “Twice the shine!” – whilst Neville bought a pair of gloves and a couple of books. They usually did this every Hogsmeade trip, being the only relatively young members of the teaching staff – except for Celia, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, but her nerves were usually too frazzled to face a Hogsmeade trip.

Finally, they reached the Three Broomsticks again.

The warm pub was filled with students, but the Professors had already claimed the biggest table, the one on the very end. Flitwick was already drinking his second Gigglewater, judging by the redness of his cheeks; Professor Hooch was eating chips and Slughorn was, as usual, at the counter, trying to charm Madam Rosmerta. Professor Sinistra and Professor Trelawney were in a deep conversation about the current convergence of the stars, and the new Transfiguration teacher, a broody old witch, was quietly sipping on a Butterbeer and keeping an eye on the students.

Harry and Neville sat and ordered Butterbeers, chips and a couple of sandwiches. Harry couldn’t help but to look around. Malfoy hadn’t shown, apparently.

“While we’re almost all here,” Neville started, sipping on his butterbeer. “I would like to discuss something.”

Slughorn made for their table again. “Harry, dear boy!” he said, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s Butterbeer went down the wrong way.

“What would you like to discuss, Neville?” he said in between coughs.

“Well, Malfoy’s birthday is approaching,” Neville said, almost sheepish. “I thought we might all chip in and get him something. McGonagall said to treat him like one of us.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. How did Neville even know…

“I have a Charmed Calendar for everyone’s birthday,” Neville admitted. “I got it after I forgot Luna’s birthday for the second time in a row.”

“Lovely thought, Longbottom, lovely indeed,” Slughorn agreed jovially. “Shall we say, the usual couple of Galleons?”

Everyone murmured their assent and produced said coins, putting them in a small pile at the centre of the table. Trelawney did so with a certain reluctance. Stingy hag.

Harry obediently put his own two Galleons at the top of the pile, thinking that would be it. But suddenly, he found everyone’s eyes on him.

“What?” he said, defensively, eating a chip.

“Well, it’s not like any of us know what to get him,” Neville explained.

“Oh, and I do?”

“Oh, but you went to school together, surely you know what he might like!” Flitwick squealed.

“So did Neville, and I don’t see him coming up with any ideas.”

“Yes, well, but Harry,” Neville continued, careful, like he was expecting Harry to blow up at the wrong words. “You too definitely… knew more about each other.”

Harry scowled. Just because they had yelled at each other constantly, it doesn’t mean they knew one another. But, he did know some of Malfoy’s interests, that much he had to admit.

“He likes flying. Get him something broomstick or Quidditch related,” he grunted. “He also likes dark colours, and expensive stuff, so maybe dragon leather. He also has a sweet tooth. What?” he snapped, as everyone assumed a knowing look and even smiled a bit.

“Nothing!” Slughorn promptly defended himself.

“Very well, then, dear,” Professor Trelawney said, pushing the pile of coins towards him. “You let us know what you find.”

“What?!” Harry almost screamed. “No, wait a second, I don’t…”

“Here he comes, hurry, hurry!”

Neville unceremoniously took all the Galleons and stuffed them in Harry’s bag.

“Nice,” Harry complimented him in a hiss. Malfoy was coming towards them, looking a bit – insecure? Harry wasn’t sure.

“Hello,” he said. He was wearing different robes than usual. These were dark green with silver embroidery. How very Slytherin. How very predictable. “May I sit?”

Everyone cheered and made room for him. Slughorn even Conjured one of his famous stuffed chairs for him to sit. Malfoy sat down and ordered a Firewhisky. It was 2 PM, but who was Harry to judge? In fact, he wanted one himself right now. “Two,” he said to Rosmerta.

“So, what are we talking about?” Malfoy asked.

They all fell silent. Idiots.

“Quidditch,” Harry said. Malfoy had started to look a bit queasy, like he believed they were all talking trash about him before he came in. “I need to get a new broomstick.”

That was a safe topic. Also, everyone at the table except Malfoy knew that Harry had been saying that for years, without ever actually getting a new broom, so they would lose interest quickly.

“Firebolt’s not working right for you anymore?” Malfoy asked, obviously intrigued, as he sipped his drink.

“For a broom made almost twenty years ago, it is,” Harry replied. All the teachers had heard this conversation a thousand times, so they turned and started to talk with each other. “But these new models are another thing entirely.”

“So why don’t you buy one of them?”  
Harry sighed. He always felt a bit stupid when he had to explain this.

“Because, it’s my broom, you know?” he said. “Every time I go and try to get another one, I just end up buying accessories of replacement parts. Maybe it’s stupid, but I can’t just replace it. That broom knows me.”

“Of course it does,” Malfoy agreed immediately. Harry raised his eyebrows. With the single exception of Hooch, everyone had always called him a loon whenever he said that. “I still have my first broom, you know. Little more than a toy, but it still knows how I like to fly, even if it’s more than thirty years old and gets surpassed by butterflies in flight. It’s still my favourite broomstick.” Malfoy shrugged.

“But flying fast is the best,” Harry exclaimed. He was starting to get excited. Broomstick talk always made his heart race. “When I first got the Firebolt, it felt like I weighed nothing at all. It could reach one hundred and fifty miles per hour, easily, without a single stutter. These new brooms reach two hundred and more, I want to try that, but at the same time, they look so strange.”

“I know,” Malfoy said. “When did it become fashionable for brooms to be so thin?”

“Yeah, exactly!”” Harry was practically on the edge of his seat. “And they’re all so dark…”

“Call me an idiot, but I like something sturdy and wooden between my legs,” Malfoy nodded enthusiastically. And, of course, the table had chosen that exact moment to be quiet and hear precisely every word Malfoy had said. Out of context.

“Well,” Slughorn said, embarrassed.

“We were talking about broomsticks,” Harry promptly clarified. Malfoy looked like he wanted to disappear under the table. Harry felt a bit sorry for him.

Neville was looking in every direction but theirs, but he was merciful enough to start a new conversation about the final exams, which were rapidly approaching.

“You know,” Malfoy said, “I know how to repair a broomstick. If you want, we can buy what we need and then I can work on your stick.”  
Harry was starting to think that it was impossible to hold a conversation on this subject without incurring in multiple innuendos. He was about to rerun every conversation he ever had on the subject, when Malfoy’s words registered.

“Uh?” he grunted, stupidly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Malfoy quickly dismissed him. “You don’t have to. I mean, a Firebolt’s speed is usually affected by the calibration of the twigs, but you can only re-calibrate them so much, until they need to be changed, and I know how to do that, but it doesn’t matter…”

“Do you really?” Harry asked, curious. Malfoy looked uneasy.

“It’s quite simple,” he assured him.

“Yes, let’s do that,” Harry agreed. He had always wanted to change some of the twigs.

“Good, then let’s go.” Malfoy rose from his seat and threw five Galleons on the table – like, really? That was the tab for a month of drinks.

Harry rose as well. “What, right now?”

Malfoy looked at him like he was an idiot. “Shop’s just down the street.”

Harry nodded, and after saying goodbye to the teachers – Neville looked suspicious at seeing them collaborate voluntarily on anything – they started to trot down the High Street of Hogsmeade.

He saw Poole coming out of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes with a large bag. “Mr. Poole!” he shouted. “None of that better be Wildfire Whiz-Bangs!”

“Of course not, Professor!”

Harry grunted. “I don’t trust that one bit.”

“Well, you’d be a fool to,” Malfoy replied easily, “I saw one poking out of the bag.”

Harry groaned. Damn Weasleys.

They entered the broom shop and were promptly welcomed by the owner.

It became immediately apparent that Malfoy did know quite a lot about broomsticks, much more than Harry. He  personally selected ten twigs after testing them for length, elasticity and specific properties. He also chose the exact same colour as those of the Firebolt.

“We would also like some Magi-stick to make sure there are no loose attachments. And we should probably get a new metal circlet to hold them in position, so we can adapt it to the new set of twigs… unless it’s too expensive?” he turned to look at Harry, suddenly realising that he had just asked for Galleons and Galleons worth of materials.

“Nah, it’s okay,” Harry replied. Teaching at Hogwarts paid reasonably well, and he still had his parents’ inheritance and the money from selling Grimmauld Place. It hadn’t felt good to sell it, it was his last connection to Sirius, but, while Ron and Hermione tried to convince him that the place still held some significance, Harry felt in his heart that Sirius wouldn’t have wanted him to live there. It was the house where he had been the unhappiest. Besides, the nice wizarding family that had bought it knew how to fix it and get rid of all the monstrosities; and Kreacher, with a little coaxing, had agreed to stay and pledge his loyalty to them. So, Harry had more money than he knew what to do with. Mostly, he used it to buy Rose presents.

Their shopping took hours. Before they knew it, they sky was darkening, and most students had already started to make their way back to the castle. They exited the shop with a considerable number of bags – Malfoy had also bought some stuff for himself – and decided to skip a final drink with the other teachers and get back to the castle. It was a nice afternoon, the air cold but pleasant. The walk, however, was conspicuously quiet, until Harry just had to say something.

“How did you learn all this stuff about brooms anyway?” he decided to ask. Safe topic, right?

“My father,” Malfoy replied quietly. A muscle twitched in his cheek. Harry was starting to feel like there were no safe topics between them. Might as well, he thought. He had been wanting to ask.

“How is he?” he asked carefully. He knew very little about Lucius. All Shacklebolt had told him was that he had accepted his verdict with resignation, and that in Azkaban he had been inserted into a re-education programme. The programme had been Hermione’s idea, actually: after completing a whole cycle, the prisoners had the opportunity to reduce their sentences, if the teacher gave their approval.

“He’s…” Malfoy hesitated. Harry could see that he had some difficulty talking about his father. “He’s as good as can be expected. It’s not like before. Without the Dementors, I mean. Mother visits him weekly, I go in every time I can. He’s changed a lot.”

Of course, that was exactly what Malfoy thought Harry wanted to hear, maybe so that he could go and tell Shacklebolt. Put in a good word for him. Or maybe it had nothing to do with that, Harry thought guiltily. Maybe it was true, and he was too suspicious.

“That’s good,” he replied, shrugging noncommittally. “The Dementors were the first thing Shacklebolt got rid of. I also hear they can practise some magic, can’t they?”

“Once a month, with a Ministry-issued special wand,” Malfoy explained. “It’s not… ideal. But still. No one's going insane anymore, I think.”

He looked depressed. Harry had been torn when it had come to decide how to testify for Lucius. He had shown remorse, yes, but that was clearly due more to the fact that he couldn’t keep his family safe anymore, and not because he had experienced an epiphany. Lucius only wanted to get rid of Voldemort because of how his family was being treated.

Between his late remorse and the information he had provided about other Death Eaters, he had been given twenty years, thirteen of which had already passed. If he passed his re-education programme, Lucius might be a free man soon. He didn’t feel like sharing this information with Malfoy, who probably knew about it anyway.

“And your mother?” he asked.

Malfoy looked slightly less gloomy. “She’s well,” he said, sighing. “Keeping herself busy, now that she has to run the Manor on her own. I got a place of my own. I just couldn’t stay there, after… after. She’s a bit lonely, I think.”

Harry reflected a bit before speaking again. He wasn’t sure he could say this without crossing a line.

“You know,” he started, slowly. “Andromeda often asks about her.”

Malfoy turned to look at him. “Oh?”

“Yeah. They’re sisters, after all. And Andromeda is a bit lonely as well – what with having lost her daughter, her husband and her son-in-law. She raised my godson, Teddy, but now he’s here at Hogwarts. Hufflepuff.” Harry tried not to make it so obvious, that Teddy was like family to him, but thankfully no one could suspect unfair treatment, since the boy had great grades in every subject. They had tea every other weekend.

Malfoy looked like he didn’t know what harry was talking about. “My cousin,” he said.

“Yes,” Harry said. “You’ve probably seen him around. He usually wears his hair blue?” he tried.

“Ah, yes. He has the Black eyelids.”

“Exactly,” Harry confirmed. Malfoy didn’t reply to his suggestion that Andromeda and Narcissa try and patch things up. He seemed to be deep in reflection, though, and remained so until they reached the doors of the castle.

“Well,” he said. “I’m free tomorrow evening, if you want to get started on your broom.”

Harry nodded. “Do you know where my rooms are?”

“Yes, but it’s best if we go to the field, don’t you think? So we can try it after.”

Harry nodded again. “I’ll check and see if any team has reserved it. They all practise during the week, usually, though.”

“Well, then, see you at dinner,” Malfoy said. “Let me know if the field’s free.”

“See you later.”

It wasn’t until he got to his rooms that Harry realised that he had practically just spent an afternoon with Malfoy. And it hadn’t been unpleasant at all. He was still under the impression that Malfoy was playing some sort of role, like he was toning down his personality in order to be liked better. Given what he knew about Malfoy’s personality, it was probably for the best. But anyway, he couldn’t deny that Malfoy – as he was presenting himself – was not bad company at all.

 

***

 

Harry spent dinner in a haze. The enormity of what transpired started to dawn on him as he found himself looking forward to working on his broom with Malfoy – Malfoy, of all people – the following day. He was… weirded out. For some reason, he also decided not to mention it to Ron and Hermione, sure that they would judge him for spending time with the person Ron still called “the bloody ferret”. Maybe they wouldn't. He had no idea. Hermione would definitely understand. Probably. Ron would maybe let it slide if he knew it was for a good cause, his Firebolt. He knew how much it was bugging him that his broom wasn’t as efficient as it used to be.

But in any case, the only person who needed to approve was himself, right? Right.

Then why did he feel like he was falling into some trap? A huge part of him expected Malfoy to be acting like a normal human being just so he could befriend him and then shout in his face “Ah-ah, you fell for it! Now I’m finally avenged for that time you didn’t shake my hand, now go to hell, Potter.” But that was a ridiculous scenario, wasn’t it?

It didn’t help that Malfoy brushed elbows with him during the entire dinner, making amiable conversation and sharing his plans for Harry’s Firebolt and generally being absolutely approachable and non-insane.

Harry had always had a hard time telling apart his instincts and paranoia. He knew, because Hermione told him so basically every time they had a dinner party. And Ron silently agreed.

“Potter, you okay? You seem… confused about something.”

“Uh?” Harry replied stupidly, his mouth full of potato mash. _Nice_ , he thought.

“Nothing.” Malfoy was looking at him with something akin to suspicion in his eyes, but then kept to himself for the rest of the dinner.

“Oh, Madam Hooch, I almost forgot,” Harry said, leaning towards the flying Instructor as she cut a piece of steak. “Is the Quidditch field free tomorrow afternoon?”

She started to think, but then she said, “Oh, yes, the Ravenclaw team has practice in the morning, but it’s free the rest of the day”.

“Ok, thank you.” Harry turned to Malfoy to confirm and Malfoy nodded his assent. _So this is really happening_ , Harry thought.

Who’d have thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand here's another chapter. Thanks everyone for the kudos and the comments on the first, it's amazing to get this kind of feedback!  
> Anyway: I know Lucius didn't go to Azkaban, but I feel like he should have, and so here we go.  
> You'll get chapter 3 next week! And thank you for reading, if you've come this far down.
> 
> And thank you again akablue for Beta reading this chapter as well!


	3. Chapter 3

Harry and Malfoy had been in the field for about an hour. As Malfoy worked on his broom – he truly was good: he had already changed half the damaged twigs – Harry felt the silence was a little bit too heavy, and he usually enjoyed silence. He had no idea why it was so uncomfortable to him.

“So, the inspections… any progress?”

Malfoy didn’t even raise his head, working on a particularly nasty twig that just didn’t want to come off. He had shown Harry why the broom wasn’t working as well as it used to: there were small indentations and growths that threw off the balance and created attrition when flying at high speed. Harry knew that but had no idea how to fix it before Malfoy had taken it into his own hands.

“I’m practically done. The list is about 30 pages long. It was actually quite worse than I thought, dark wizards have been planting their curses and artefacts for a very long time with no one the wiser.”

At that, Harry frowned. “How is that possible? Hogwarts has never been on the side of the Dark Arts.”

“Oh, Potter,” Malfoy chuckled. Harry was starting to get irritated. His tone implied he was being some sort of an idiot. Maybe the true Malfoy was actually emerging.

“What do you mean ‘Oh, Potter’?” Best to goad him. Perhaps he was finally going to see the mask coming off. And then everyone would stop calling him paranoid.

“Dark magic and good magic are not actually that different,” Malfoy explained. Unfortunately for Harry, his tone was nothing but academic and calm. “They’re separated by a very blurred line. Wizards with the best of intentions can create something horrible, and dark wizards are not always like the Dark Lord. They’re not necessarily pure-evil-want-to-conquer-the-world-enslave-Muggles: they can disguise themselves among a crowd and live their entire lives without their families knowing they liked to meddle in dark stuff.”

“So, if I’m getting this right…” Harry started, confused, “You’re saying that Hogwarts has had dark wizards as teachers?”

Malfoy bugged his eyes and finally looked at him. He was almost done with the broom. He was quick, Harry thought, and had extremely agile and long fingers. “Well of course! And Headmasters and Headmistresses as well. And students. All sorts, really.”

“I don’t believe it,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Hogwarts can’t have had a dark wizard as Headmaster.”

“It’s had more than one, believe me,” Malfoy rose and looked at his handiwork. “Melissa Harbor. Rododendrus Feanisk. Levi Johnson, to name just a few examples. They all taught here in the 1800s. Bit of a field day for Dark Magic, back then.”

Harry was… angry that he was shocked, frankly. He should have guessed, maybe. He should have imagined. After all, the castle was filled with curses and hexes and Voldemort had only ruled it for a year. It couldn’t all be his fault.

“Don’t look so sad,” Malfoy smiled at him. Harry was more and more irritated. “Most of them were not evil. Some were just trying to look out for the castle and the students, but got way off track, or went so deep that they created something terrible. Most of it, I think, came out of good will.”

Harry nodded. That was a small consolation. But why had Dumbledore never done anything to fix it?

“Here, try it.” Malfoy handed him his broom and Harry gasped. It looked… new. It had been polished all over, and the twigs all looked so sleek and regular and ready to take their first flight. The new metal band holding them together looked like pure gold against the dark brown. Sirius would have loved to see it, Harry thought with a pang. He would have loved less to know who had repaired it, though.

He couldn’t help it: he smiled at Malfoy, who looked pleased and a little embarrassed. Harry mounted his broom and kicked off the ground, eager to feel the wind through his hair. Usually at that point the Firebolt would tend to veer slightly to the left, but not anymore. He flew across the field, through the hoops, in circles and up and down, and felt like he was 13 again. The broom was not perfect, not by a long shot, but it finally listened to him again, and he hadn’t reached this speed in years. He landed near Malfoy, elated.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” he couldn’t help but ask. Malfoy was a brilliant flyer, he had to give him that.

“Maybe another time,” Malfoy replied with a cryptic smile. “I didn’t bring mine today.”

Harry shrugged and kicked off the ground again. He flew across the field for about twenty minutes, as Malfoy watched him patiently, but when the sun began to go down he decided it would have to do for the day.

As they made their way back to the castle, Harry realised he didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore. Frankly, anyone who could mend his broom like that was bound to be in his good books.

“I might have to ask you a favour in return for this, actually” Malfoy mentioned. He seemed… nervous? Tense? Harry wondered if this hadn’t been his purpose all along. Make sure Harry owed him.

“What?” he asked, a tad suspicious.

“Yesterday I inspected the Great Lake.”

Harry felt himself go rigid. “Ah.” These days, the mere mention of the lake made everyone shudder. He just hoped Malfoy was going to tell him he was wrong, because he didn’t want to be right about this. “And?”

Malfoy paused. “I think you know.”

It was like being punched in the gut. “That bastard” he rasped. “That absolute, utter bastard.”

“I can fix it,” Malfoy said quickly, seeing him so shaken up, “But… I need another person. I could have the Ministry send him someone, but since you’re trained…”

“I’ll do it,” Harry said without hesitation.

“It will be dangerous,” Malfoy warned him, “I mean, very dangerous.”

Harry laughed bitterly. “Well, I do miss risking my life on a daily basis. That was most of my school experience.” He expected a chuckle, but Malfoy actually looked very, very serious.

 

***

 

As Malfoy’s birthday rapidly approached, Harry started to feel anxious. McGonagall had cornered him the day before, asking whether he’d actually bought the present, and with all the bravery and impulsiveness that characterised Gryffindors, he blatantly lied and said yes. Now, he only needed to find the blasted gift. Hermione’s last letter had been mostly unhelpful.

_He enjoys broomsticks, books on Dark Arts, sweets and cashmere and leather goods._

Harry already knew that much, but Malfoy knew more than he did about broomsticks, Harry knew a lot of good books on Dark Arts, but he had no idea what Malfoy already had, and the idea of giving him clothes repelled him to his core. He hated shopping for clothes. That only left sweets, but he couldn’t very well give him 20 Galleons worth of lollipops, right? Or so Hermione said.

He was watching Malfoy during dinner. The students were particularly loud that day, given that final exams were coming and the last Quidditch match would be that weekend. He observed as Malfoy methodically cut a piece of roast-beef and wondered what the hell he could get him. He would have to ask Hermione again.  
And then, he got an idea. Sure, it would be over-budget, but he could provide the rest, right? After all, this gift thing was really bugging him.

Harry ignored the faces of his colleagues – and Malfoy – as he abruptly stood and made for the Owlery. If he put in the order right now, it would arrive on time.  


***

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what this is,” Malfoy said, looking at the strange object with an equally strange look on his face. Harry had never felt more stupid in his entire life.

They were in the staff room, celebrating Malfoy's birthday. The House Elves had made a gigantic cake in the shape of a snake – how very unoriginal, really – and they were studiously ignoring the party hats they had left along with the cake and the Butterbeer. McGonagall had announced that they had a gift for him looking straight into Harry’s eyes, as if she was calling him out. But Harry raised his chin and produced a large box. A large box containing the stupidest gift on earth, apparently.

“Well,” Harry started. He scratched his head. “It’s a dispenser. A sweets dispenser.”

Slughorn and Hooch were looking at him like he was a moron. Even the portraits seemed to be judging him. Malfoy tried to rotate the handle of the dispenser – it looked like a classic bubble gum dispenser, with a glass sphere on the top and the mechanism under. Except the sphere was empty, and the handle was redundant. It had “Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes” written on it in bright, purple glitter. “It doesn’t seem to be working,” he stated, slowly.

“Well, it’s because…” Harry sighed. “It’s a Weasley’s product. It’s been charmed to dispense sweets and candy bars when you answer a question correctly. They mostly sell to students who use it as a reward system when they study.”

“Oh,” Malfoy said. McGonagall looked intrigued, but the other teachers were still frowning. “So, I have to answer a question?”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed, “Just… tap it with your wand.”

Malfoy took out his wand and did as he was told. A suede feminine voice coming out of the dispenser answered. “What is the only protective charm against Rabid Heart Jinxes?”

“ _Cordis cavea,_ ” Malfoy replied without missing a beat and raising his eyebrows. With a little ding, the dispenser spat out a sugar quill. Everyone in the room ooh’d and aah’d.

“This is… lovely!” Malfoy exclaimed, immediately putting the quill into his mouth. Harry felt his cheeks reddening and tried to hide it with another explanation.

“Well, it’s been charmed to ask questions on Quidditch, and Dark Arts, and Defense against the Dark Arts. It’ll give out unlimited sweets for the next 5 years, but then using this…” Harry rustled in his pocket and took out a small coupon. “This is an extension, you just bring this and the dispenser to the Weasley’s shop, and they’ll extend the charm for another five years. It’s a pretty ingenious trick.”

Malfoy was looking at him like he had two heads. Harry had dreaded this: giving Malfoy a generic gift would have been less obvious that it had been his doing. But there could be no doubt now. The teachers were looking at Harry as well, but this time, they looked impressed. He wanted to Disapparate directly into a volcano.

“This is a very, very nice gift,” Malfoy said, taking the coupon from Harry’s hand. “Thank you, everyone. And Potter, especially.”

Harry thought Malfoy had the strangest gift of looking both smug and sincerely touched at the same time. It must have been a Malfoy thing. “Well, it’s a party, let’s get some sweets for everyone!”

He tapped onto the dispenser again, which chirped: “In what year did the Chudley Cannons win the All Stars Quidditch Cup?”

Malfoy laughed. “As if that could ever happen!”

“Correct,” the dispenser said, giving out a pocket-sized box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.  
Harry smiled and took it from Malfoy’s hand. He actually liked those, and he needed to keep busy, so that he could ignore the vaguely satisfied smirk McGonagall was throwing in his direction.

  
  
***

 

Harry stood at the top of the staircase, closely watching the students. School was out. He had always watched the students depart for the summer with a mix of joy – two whole months for himself – and sadness. Some of them would never be his students again: Poole and his whole year of Gryffindor had completed their NEWTs (with great results, he might add, lots of Os in his subject) and were off to start their adult lives. For seven years he had seen them practically every day.

Poole and his best mates had come into his office the day before and had given him a huge box of Chocolate Frogs as a goodbye present. He had been extremely touched. Other students made gestures as well, but Poole had looked at him with respect and the usual glint of wickedness and for a moment he had just wanted to hug him.

The following days would be a bit chaotic, going around the Common Room and mailing the students whatever they left behind – and there was always something. Then he would have to inspect the dormitories closely, and leave them to House Elves for a deep, thorough cleaning. And then, he would be free.

He usually spent his summers going back and forth from Hogwarts, to Ron and Hermione’s and to the Burrow. He supposed he could have just stayed with them for the whole two months, but found himself unable to leave the castle for more than a few weeks. Besides, it was the only time he could enjoy the Gryffindor Common Room, and his favourite armchair.

This year he would probably get to see Ron and Hermione less, since he had agreed to help Malfoy with the purge. He could tell that Malfoy was itching to start: he, too, was looking at the students, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh. It must be frustrating, Harry thought, to know that there was so much to do and not being able to start.

Finally, guided by Celia and Filch, the students all left. The castle already felt empty and cold without them: it was almost as if Hogwarts hated those months without students.

Harry and Malfoy looked at each other, seemingly exchanging the same line of thought. Then Harry nodded to him and departed, making his way towards the Common Room. They had already agreed to meet at the Lake the following morning.

 

***

 

Harry got dressed and decided to forgo his usual morning shave. He also let his hair run a bit wilder than usual. Today was not a day for vanity, he thought.

He went to McGonagall’s office first, to let her know what they were about to do.

“I should probably join you,” she said, tense. Her lips were pursed, but it was obvious it was out of worry.

“Malfoy said it would be safer to just be the two of us,” Harry replied quietly, “Easier to contain if there’s only one target.”

She nodded, a sombre look on her face.

“I don’t like this,” she whispered. Harry had rarely seen her so open and honest. “I don’t like this at all.”

“Neither do I,” Harry answered just as quietly, “That’s why we must deal with it.”

He left her office feeling, for the first time in a while, a bit nervous. A part of him believed that he was sixteen again, leaving with Dumbledore for a mission he did not know he could survive.

But Dumbledore was dead, he reminded himself. All he had this time was Malfoy. He hoped he knew what he was doing.

Punctual as ever, Malfoy was already waiting for him at the Lake. They had agreed that if this needed to be done, it was best to carry it out in daylight. _They_ did not like daylight.

“Morning,” Malfoy greeted him. He, too, looked tense, but also focused. Harry saw his determination and took it as good sign.

“So… what are we doing?” he asked, nervous.

Malfoy took a deep breath. “I think you probably know already,” he explained, “But basically… I need you to be bait.”

Harry nodded. He had expected as much.

“So I have to enter the water?”

Malfoy pointed at the shores of the lake.

“You’re going to enter, yes, but stay in shallow waters. Ankle-deep. At that point, right there,” and he waved towards a flat rock that emerged from the water. “I will be able to stay out of the water and at the same time contain them. You should position yourself next to the rock, just a few meters off to the left.”

Harry gulped. “And then what?”

Malfoy looked almost guilty.

“Then they will attack. They are triggered by contact of a living person with the water, so we won’t have to wait long. Since you’ll be in shallow waters, they will have to emerge as well, and then I’ll be able to destroy them.”

Harry sighed. “I don’t understand. If he had this weapon, why did he not use it during the final battle?”

“I thought about it a lot,” Malfoy replied, “I think it’s because the battle took place away from the lake and they don’t do well outside of the water. And they’re so stupid that they would have attacked Death Eaters as well.”

“That makes sense,” Harry murmured. “So, how are you going to take them out?”

“Fiendfyre.”

“What?!”

Harry turned to him in shock. He couldn’t have possibly heard him right.

“It’s the only way.”

“But it can’t be controlled!”

“It can,” Malfoy assured him, “It can, believe me. It’s hard, and ugly, but I’ve done it before. My only worry is that you will be a bit too close, but I can command it with a good deal of precision if I’m focused enough.”

“Oh, so, if you get distracted for a second I’m toast, then. No biggie.”

Harry was furious. Had he known he was going to be in a firestorm of Fiendfyre, he would have thought twice before agreeing. He could just imagine Malfoy bringing his burnt body up to McGonagall, saying he just had no idea how it could have happened, he had been so careful, alas, what a tragedy.  

“I promise, Harry, I won’t let it hurt you.”

Once again, Harry was shocked. This was probably the first time in history Malfoy called him by his name. And he was probably doing it to convince him, the bastard.

“Fine!” he yelled, raising his arms in defeat. “Fine. Just so we’re clear: it’s the only way?”

“The only way to destroy them permanently, yes,” Malfoy nodded. “You have to think of them as some sort of… Permanent Sticking Charm. They fall under the same loose category of ‘Indelible Enchantments’. By definition, they can only be put out by magic that’s just as powerful as that used to conjure them. That means that their effects are not diminished by the death of the conjurer, as opposed to normal charms.”

Harry nodded: it made sense. The Permanent Sticking Charm Sirius had used to attach the muggle photos on his bedroom at Grimmauld Place had endured even after his death. The new owners had had to call a specialist to get rid of them.

“So,” Malfoy continued, “The only way to get rid of an Indelible Enchantment is to use another Indelible Enchantment. Hence the Fiendfyre.”

“I just hope you know what you’re doing, since I’m not indelible,” Harry muttered.

Malfoy almost… smiled at him?

“Trust me.”

Harry sighed. For some reason, he did. “So, what now?”

“Now you Levitate me onto the rock. And then you go in.”

Harry did as he was told. He deposited Malfoy carefully on the rock, and then bent to take off his shoes.

“Don’t!” Malfoy yelled at him. The rock was about 5 meters from the shore. “Keep them on. You need all the protection you can get.”

Harry snorted and took one final deep breath. He put the first foot in the water and was immediately assaulted by the cold and the deep, sinister sensation that something was indeed wrong with the lake. He could feel darkness swirling beyond the surface, and every instinct in his body told him to turn away and run as far as possible.

But he couldn’t. So, step after step, he forced himself to go on, until he was finally positioned in the place Malfoy had indicated. They looked at each other. Something transpired between them that Harry had no idea how to describe: for a moment, he had thought of Malfoy as an ally, a comrade, just as Hermione and Ron had been during the war. He found himself smirking at him: he wanted to do this. He wanted to get rid of those monstrosities. Most importantly, he wanted to do it with Malfoy. And just as Malfoy started to smirk back at him, something grabbed his ankle, and he jumped.

He hadn’t seen them coming: they must have crawled beneath the surface. But now they were right in front of him: about ten Inferi, horrible and decomposed, their skin pale and taut and covered in blisters. He almost started gagging, but he knew he had to react fast.

“ _Relascio_!” he yelled, pointing his wand at the Inferius that had grabbed his ankle. The disgusting creature was propelled a couple of meters back, but immediately started to crawl its way back to him. Harry was shocked: his heart was racing, and his face was covered in sweat, but he managed to keep a level head, keeping them at bay with one incantation after the other. He wanted to look at Malfoy, who was chanting a formula in a quiet, deep voice, and tell him to get the hell on with it, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away, not even for a second, or it would be his undoing. There were about fifty now: just how many had Voldemort managed to plant in the lake?

One of them – a female, a poor girl, almost completely hairless, her eyes devoid of any life – had almost reached him. He tried to cast her away, but she was resilient. And then, just as he was about to get grabbed, a gigantic, fiery head of a snake came out of nowhere and bit her in the waist. With a horrible guttural sound, the Inferius turned to dust. More snakes came out of his peripheral vision and started to almost eat the Inferi: the moment the fire touched them, they disintegrated, falling in the water and convulsing for a moment before becoming dust. Harry finally felt safe enough to turn his head, and gasped.

Malfoy was… magnificent. He was emanating power and concentration. He was crouched in a defensive position, one arm taut across his chest, the other working the wand in complicated movements, which directed the fire snakes of Fiendfyre against the Inferi. The fire lit his face in an almost scary way, bringing out the sharpness of his features, and his eyes looked black. Harry had the random thought that he was beautiful like this.

All around him, there was chaos: clouds of vapor rose everywhere the snakes came too close to the water, and the temperature was almost too high to withstand. Harry remained on high alert, but the snakes were swiftly and precising taking care of the Inferi, one by one, always ensuring they wouldn’t get too close to him. Their numbers rapidly dwindled, until only one or two remained. The biggest snake hissed a fountain of sparkles in the air, and then promptly dived down to take them both out in a single strike. The Inferi collapsed, and all of a sudden it was over.

Harry looked around. The Lake was a mess of dirty water, vapor and waves. The fiery snakes turned in Malfoy’s direction, as a soldier would turn to their leader, and then disappeared. They looked like they didn’t want to, but with a decisive flick of his wand and a frown of concentration, Malfoy managed to cast them away. And then they looked at each other.

Malfoy was a mess. His face was a mask of sweat, panting heavily, his hand on his knees. He was trembling all over. Harry started to wade across to get to him: he looked like he could fall from his rock.

“Are you okay?” he asked him as he got closer.

“Fine,” Malfoy panted, “Just… takes a toll on you, that’s all.”

And then everything went to hell. Just as he was about to reach him, another Inferius shot out of the water and lunged itself at Malfoy, grabbing him and plunging them both in the water.

“MALFOY!” Harry shouted, in a panic. He moved faster, as he could see the Inferius slashing and biting at Malfoy. The water tinged with red.

“MALFOY! DRACO!”

All of a sudden, a burst of fire emerged from the point of Malfoy’s wand once again. The creature – not a snake, a hippogriff, for some reason – made quick work of the Inferius, which dissolved right on top of Malfoy. With a gasp, Malfoy made the hippogriff disappear, and then sank. Harry finally reached him. He grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him out, gasping at what he saw.

Malfoy’s chest had been clawed open. His torn robes showed deep lacerations and bite marks, and he sported a particularly nasty bite on his neck.

Panicking, Harry picked him up. He brought him to the shore and finally out of the water, and then, with trembling hands, started to chant every single healing charm he knew.

“It’s not working. It’s not working, DAMN IT.”

Malfoy looked out of it. He opened his eyes, but it was like he didn’t even know where he was.

“Potter,” he gasped, weakly. “Potter.”

“Tell me,” Harry said, frantic. He pushed Malfoy’s hair out of his face, where they had fallen. It was disturbing how pale he was. “Tell me what to do.”

“Pomfrey,” Malfoy whispered, and then passed out again. Harry wanted to shake him, but he knew he had no time to lose. He picked him up again, and without even realising how tired and sore he himself was, he started to run as fast as he could towards the castle. He didn’t occur to him to use a Levitating Charm. He needed to feel the weight of his body.

He didn’t even notice that the Lake was finally calm again, and that the Giant Squid was shooting splashes of water in the air in celebration.

 

 

***

 

Harry felt sixteen again. Looking at the bloodied and mangled chest of Draco Malfoy and wondering how the hell it could have happened. Feeling responsible.

Of course, this time he was slightly less guilty, but still.

Madam Pomfrey had gone to fetch a potion from her cupboards, and Harry remained at Malfoy’s bedside in the hospital wing. McGonagall had joined him, being alerted by Filch as he saw Harry carrying Malfoy’s body.

“Inferi,” she murmured. “I hoped we were wrong”.

“I hoped so too.”

Malfoy was unconscious, had been ever since they crossed the castle’s main door. Pomfrey had murmured some incantations before running away.

“Here,” Pomfrey said, returning. She was carrying a red vial. “Help me make him drink this.”

Harry lifted Malfoy’s upper body so that she could pour the contents of the vial down his throat, careful not to jostle him too much. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought Malfoy instantly regained some colour.

“That’s about everything I can do for him,” she sighed. Harry turned to look at her in shock.  
“Wounds inflicted by magic so dark have to heal spontaneously. But he’s out of danger. It’s actually not that serious,” she explained. “Biggest risk was blood loss, but we just avoided that with that potion. The cuts and bites are not deep, he will heal fine. There’s a chance he’ll be scarred, though.”

Harry tugged his hair. Merlin.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” McGonagall said, putting her hand on Harry’s shoulder. They all looked at Malfoy as Pomfrey cut his shirt off and put a hospital pyjama top on him.

“I know. It’s not a matter of fault. But I feel like I could’ve done something to avoid it.”

“It shot out of the water when you thought you were done. It happened. It’s over,” she said brusquely, pragmatic as ever. Harry didn’t even respond.

“Well, I’m going to keep him in here for a day or two, but then he’ll only have to come in twice a day to have his bandages changed. Better to let him rest for now.” Pomfrey tucked the sheets around Malfoy and then turned to leave. She raised her eyebrows at McGonagall and Harry, as if to urge them to imitate her. She never liked too many visitors.

“I’m staying,” Harry said. His tone must have been so determined that even though Pomfrey opened her mouth to probably deny his request, McGonagall nodded and took Pomfrey away.

Harry stayed for about seven hours. It was about dinnertime when Malfoy finally stirred, finding Harry looking right at him. He scoffed and smiled, turning his head on the side of the pillow.

“Of course you stayed,” he muttered.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”

Maybe he resented him. He would understand, if that were the case.

“No,” Malfoy said, surprised. “It’s okay. It’s just… a very Gryffindor thing to do. As is carrying me bridal style.”

Harry chuckled to hide his embarrassment. “Well, wouldn’t want a day to pass without scarring Filch for life.”

“Ah, yes,” Malfoy laughed. “I was awake. I believe he screamed ‘murder’?”

“No,” Harry corrected him. “He actually said ‘assassination’.”

“How poetic.”

Harry murmured his assent and for a second, they just smiled at each other.

“This is the second time you have slashes in your chest because of me,” Harry couldn’t help but mention. _It’s almost as if I want to ruin the mood_ , he chastised himself. But Malfoy shook his head.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It wasn’t your fault. And you have no idea how many times this happens in my line of work.”

“Maybe. The first time was definitely my fault, though.”

“Mh-mh,” Malfoy nodded. “Not that I didn’t deserve it.”

Harry frowned. For some reason, he wanted to take his hand and get him to stop it with this self-pity.

“You didn’t. No one does. I didn’t know what the spell did. I was an idiot.”

Malfoy seemed surprised again, but instead of replying, he shrugged.

“Did I ever apologise?” Harry asked. That was rhetorical. He knew he never had. He always wanted to, but could never find a moment, or the guts.

“If you apologise for that,” Malfoy started in a calm, measured voice, “Then I have to apologise for all the shitty stunts I pulled. For all the pranks, and the name-calling, and the bullying. And then we’d be here for several days.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Harry said. He was curious to see what would happen next. Malfoy pursed his lips, and just as Harry was starting to think he wasn’t going to get an apology in return, he heard a whispered “I’m sorry, too”.

He smiled and bowed his head. “And just like that, a years-long rivalry dies.”

“Oh, well, just wait until I can get on a broom again, and then you’ll see some first-class rivalry. Also, you suck at potions.”

Harry laughed again. Despite the topic, he found himself very relaxed. Must be the adrenaline finally wearing down.

“I never asked before,” Malfoy started again, startling Harry, “but I feel like I have to.” He hesitated. “Why did you testify in my favour?”

Ah. They were going there. Might as well, Harry thought. They’d probably never have another occasion to discuss it.

“I didn’t think you were naturally evil, or bad, or anything like that,” he explained. “I think I still saw you as a classmate. A peer. Watching you through the years, it became… obvious that you actually had no interest in hurting anyone. I thought you got caught in something bigger than you, and that maybe, maybe…” he paused. He didn’t know how to put it. “Maybe, given the chance, you would’ve switched sides. At any rate, I didn’t think you were Azkaban material.”

Malfoy looked at him for a long moment. He looked like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. And then he sighed and started to bite his nails. The uncharacteristic nervous gesture threw Harry off for a second.

“I did get caught,” Malfoy admitted in a low, resigned voice. “Everything was set and done before I even realised that I actually… I couldn’t kill anyone. Big disappointment for the Dark Lord. It took me a long time, but eventually I understood. It’s awful to admit, but in my stupid desire to surpass you I sided with your biggest enemy. But I had no choice. My father deprived me of a choice.”

Harry nodded. Malfoy’s side had been chosen for him long before the war even started.

“And I was so scared. So scared, I’m ashamed to even admit. So scared that when they brought you to the manor, I couldn’t tell them. I saw you as a classmate, too. Not someone to kill. Not an enemy. Just a boy my own age that I hated, for years, without a single valid reason.”

Harry let the words hang in the air for a few minutes, but then he couldn’t help but ask, leaning forward, “Did you really hate me?”

Malfoy hesitated again. “No. I don’t think I ever did. I was just an arse.”

Harry smiled. “You were,” he said, “but you’ve changed.”

“I suppose so. That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“You don’t think it’s true?”

Malfoy looked torn, like he wanted to tell the truth but feared the consequences. Harry wanted to reassure him, but he held back. He wanted this conversation to happen as normally as possible. He needed to hear the truth.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed by now,” Malfoy carefully elaborated. “That my behaviour is very…” he seemed to be blanking on the right word. “Controlled.”

“Ah, yes,” Harry nodded. “That’s why I was so suspicious at first.”

“Well, I’m not faking it. I know everyone thinks I do, but I don’t.”

“So you’ve basically become a nicer version of Mother Teresa?” Harry asked, sceptical. Malfoy frowned.

“I don’t know who that is. But no, I mean, this is mostly me. Take away a good deal of sarcasm, a touch of irritableness and there you go. The thing is, when you’re a former Death Eater, you so much as yell at a lady who bagged your groceries all wrong and everyone goes ‘ah, there he is’. People are constantly suspicious of me, they’re… waiting for me to mess up. That’s why I try to be impeccable. It doesn’t always work,” he added, looking annoyed. “Sometimes I get a bit too harsh, or people just tell me straightaway that they’re not buying it. Hermione was very good to me about it. She told me to drop the act, that she knew I wasn’t evil, but that she could handle a tad of sarcasm from a Malfoy,” he smiled, lost in the memory. Harry had no idea they had interacted to that level.

“Same goes for me, you know,” Harry said. “From now on, please, just be yourself. I can handle it. And I hate the idea of you trying to prove yourself for the rest of your life.”

“Well, why did you think I got this job?” Malfoy said bitterly. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But when I started, all I wanted was to clear my name. and I thought to myself, I have all this knowledge about Dark Arts, how can I put it to good use? And then it came to me.”

“You’re very good at it” Harry complimented him, and Malfoy laughed a strained laugh.

“Thanks. Now all those trips with father to Borgin&Burkes finally serve some purpose.”

Harry didn’t answer.

“May I ask a question in return?” Malfoy said.

“Ask away. We seem to be on fire tonight.”

“Why did you get this job?”

Harry pretended not to understand, out of habit. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” Malfoy explained, like it was obvious, “after the war, you became an Auror. Not just an Auror, but the Head of the entire Department. You could have been Minister, one day. Honestly, with the way everyone worshipped you back then, you and your friends could’ve been like gods. Why did you come here?”

Well, Harry sighed, they were being honest, weren’t they?

“It might have gone that way,” he murmured. “Everyone was always on us, telling us what to do and at the same time expecting instructions from us. They wanted me to be at the centre of the new beginning of the wizarding world, but I was never cut out for that. All I ever wanted is peace, actually, and a home. I think that’s what drew me to Ginny in the first place, she could give me a home, a family, peace. But when things fell apart with her, well…” This part was always difficult to explain. Giving up that dream – even though it never would have worked – had been one of the hardest decisions of his life. But he couldn’t make it work with Ginny. They had wanted to, but that hadn’t been enough. They were both missing something, and they knew it. “After Ginny, I realised I had been looking for a home in the wrong place. Home wasn’t her and it would never be the Ministry. Like Dumbledore, my home is this castle.”

Malfoy stared at him. He looked dumbfounded. Harry knew he sounded crazy, especially to a Slytherin: what kind of moron would give up being Minister, rich and famous in exchange for a teaching position? But he had never regretted that choice. Not once.

“I think I should probably let you rest now,” Harry said, raising from his chair. Malfoy nodded and adjusted his bed covers, ready to fall asleep again. “One last question,” Harry said from the doorway, as an afterthought. “Why was the last Fiendfyre creature a hippogriff?”

Malfoy burst into laughing. “Oh, Merlin, that’s embarrassing. Well, you conjure a creature that you think will help you the most, right?”

“Right?”

“Well, in a moment of panic, I conjured the creature that’s helped me the most in the past. My Patronus.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. The events from their third year flashed through his mind. He slowly smiled.

“You’re telling me your Patronus is a…?”

“Yes, oh, the irony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, something finally moves! And a little H/C, one of my guilty pleasures.  
> A few notes: the Chudley Cannons did win the British Cup several times, so I created another league in which, according to me, myslelf and I, they never won. Special thanks to akablue for Beta Reading this chapter!  
> Let me know what you think and thank you for your feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

Much like knocking out a troll together back in first year had somehow forged his friendship with Hermione, apparently it wasn’t possible to face a lake full of Inferi and not become friends.

Harry had to begrudgingly admit that he was having a… well, a nice summer.

Every day he woke up at an unreasonable hour, enjoyed a late breakfast and then used the Marauder’s Map to see where Malfoy was. He joined him in his quest to purge the castle of dark magic, helped him out and even wrote a few reports to include in the final, giant one Malfoy would send to the Minister at the end of the job. They flew together a couple of times a week, and he had to admit that Malfoy was a splendid flyer. They had a Snitch they would use for friendly Seeker challenges, and their score was currently 13-11 in favour of Harry. It was strange to fly with him and even compete without wanting to rip his throat out.

On the weekends, he went to Hogsmeade, bought some presents for Rose and some food for Ron and Hermione before Apparating to their place, where he would spend a couple of days. They even took Rose to the London Aquarium once, and Harry bought her a tiny dolphin plushie.

He loved those weekends, getting to see his extended family, especially Teddy and the rest of the Weasleys, but whether it was because Ginny was now dating another bloke, and the situation often felt awkward, or because he swore he could see Mrs. Weasley sometimes looking at him with a sad face, he started to find himself missing… well, missing Malfoy, with his abrasive sarcasm and his witty comebacks.

“I’m thinking of not going this weekend,” Harry grumbled to Malfoy one afternoon nearing the end of July. “I mean, I think I have to. It’s my birthday and they’ll probably be planning something.”

“Well, then you have to go,” Malfoy replied with a shrug. They were busy with Boggarts that afternoon. Malfoy’s inspection had determined that no fewer than sixteen Boggarts lived in the castle, and they were currently facing the last one, which resided in an alcove on the fourth floor. With a flick of his wand, Malfoy provoked it into coming out. It took the form of a giant bee, something Malfoy was deadly scared of, apparently.

“ _Riddikulus_ ,” he said, calmly, and the bee turned into a giant, striped bouncing ball.

Harry sighed, keeping a close eye on the Boggart, which was starting to bounce in his direction.

“I know. It’s just… Ron’s mum is making it really hard for me. She keeps glancing between me and Ginny and Ethan, and she just looks so sad. It’s so frustrating.” Harry took a glance at the Boggart’s new form, unimpressed. He had seen Ron and Hermione dead so many times that day that he had lost count. “ _Riddikulus,_ ” he enunciated, and Ron and Hermione became alive again and started tap dancing. Malfoy looked at them pensively.  

“It’s weird to see Weasley so coordinated,” he deadpanned. With the Boggart now confused, he prepared to trap it into one the black vials they had been using that day: because Boggart’s magic protected them from being seen in their natural form, a darkened container was the only way to capture them. “But why is she sad?” he asked, confused. The Boggart looked indecisive and turned into a bee with a ginger wig. Frankly, it was hilarious.

“Well, I assume it’s because she wanted me to end up with her. So I could be officially part of the family,” Harry explained. The Boggart’s hair turned brown and bushy. “Also, it doesn’t help that I’ve never brought a date or a partner to these lunches. She must think I’m lonely.”

With a complicated enchantment, Malfoy conjured the Capture Spel. The Boggart went inside the vial like a genie inside its lamp. After one last tortured buzzing sound, the vial was corked, and the Boggart trapped. “Well, that’s that,” Malfoy said cheerfully, Summoning a piece of parchment and checking out an item from an incredibly long list. “Well, are you?” he asked then.

“Am I what?”

“Lonely.”

Harry had no idea how to answer that. He didn’t feel lonely. Perhaps he should have, since his last attempt at a relationship had been three years before, and with Celia, of all people. Although, in his defence, she looked relatively stable back then.

“No,” he said, a bit uncertain. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever been that interested in… relationships. I was at first with Ginny, but it didn’t last long. And Cho… Cho terrified me, to be honest.”

“Cho was terrifying,” Malfoy agreed. “I once played Seeker against her and she told me, and I quote, ‘I’m going to wipe the field with a broom made of your hair and spine. Then she lost, and cried for about an hour.”

“She cried a lot, yes,” Harry agreed, remembering with a shiver that wet, wet kiss. “And she could get very scary very fast. But after Ginny, I never… I don’t know.”

“Well, frankly, goes the same for me,” Malfoy said, packing up his suitcase with the vials and the rest of his instruments. Harry had asked him what the Ministry was going to do with all the Boggarts, and Malfoy had replied, “It’s classified.” Fucking Unspeakables. “My parents pushed for a Pureblood marriage, and I accepted dates with potential candidates, but I always knew I wouldn’t go through with any of it, and I think they knew it, too.”

“Really? So I can stop thinking about potential wedding presents for you and Pansy Parkinson?” Harry teased.

“Your burden has been lifted,” Malfoy answered with a theatrical gesture. “You’re quite welcome.”

“Well, I would even date her if it meant Molly stopped looking at me like that. Hell, I would date Flitwick,” Harry grumbled. They walked towards the first floor, where a particularly violent armour awaited them.

“Mmh, I bet he gives great head, he’s at just the right height…”

Fortunately, they were interrupted by a flying sword that the armour had thrown at them or Harry would have vomited in the middle of the corridor.

As Malfoy took care of the sword, Harry had an idea. “Hey. Would you like to come to my birthday?”

Malfoy laughed and dodged a metal gauntlet trying to slap him.

“Sure. I’ll bring some of the wine we make at the Manor.”

Harry frowned. “I’m not kidding.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea!” said the shrill voice of a girl dressed in frivolous, white lace from the portrait to their left.

“No one asked you,” Malfoy snapped at her, and she gasped at his rudeness. “Come on, Potter, be realistic.”

“I am being realistic,” Harry defended himself. “For once, I could bring someone. A friend,” he added rapidly, seeing as Malfoy was already raising his eyebrows, “and they don’t hate you like you think. Teddy is your cousin. Andromeda is your Aunt. Hermione already knows you!”

“So you’re saying that people who are related to me should automatically love me, even if I’ve practically never spoken to them in my entire life, and also, there’s a co-worker who’s used to tolerating me. Ah!” He managed to paralyse the armour, and then proceeded to lift the curses upon it.

“Ok, can we, maybe, have this conversation seriously? Without all the sarcasm?”

“Ah, but you said I could be sarcastic with you,” Malfoy mocked him. Harry could tell that even though he was pretending to make nothing of it, Malfoy was actually a tad bitter at the suggestion.

“Just bear with me for a second. You’re my friend. Correct?”

Malfoy looked away for a moment.

“Ah, don’t make me say it.”

“Malfoy!”

“Okay, fine, fine, we’re friends. Still…”

“Well, I’d like to have all my friends invited to my birthday,” Harry said, triumphantly, looking at him with a smirk. “So, unless you want to be a bad friend…”

Malfoy looked both annoyed and intrigued, but mostly, he seemed dubious.

“I’m very uncomfortable with this,” he said in a quiet voice. Harry could tell he was serious.

“Well, then you don’t have to come, I reckon,” he assured him. “Just know that… I’d like that. If you change your mind.”

After that, they were silent for a very long time. They had finished de-hexing the armour and were moving to the Prefect’s bathroom to remove a Balding Jinx from one of the shampoos when Harry decided he wasn’t the silent, mysterious type.

“Can you say something? Please?”

Malfoy sighed and dramatically threw his arms in the air.

“Fine. I’ll bring the wine. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

 

***  
  


“I hate you” Malfoy whispered into Harry’s ear as they shared an entire bottle of the Malfoy Apothecary’s wine. Malfoy’s entrance had been… awkward, to say the least. Once again, Harry’s Gryffindor nature had prevailed, and he had told no one about inviting Malfoy. He lived for the surprise, he lied to himself.

The moment Malfoy had set foot inside the Burrow, several things had happened at once: Ron had nearly suffocated himself with the sandwich he had been eating, Hermione had gasped so loud that Rose started crying, Molly and Arthur had looked at Harry with an amount of worry that one would normally associate with the third rebirth of Lord Voldemort, and Bill had shown – even though it had probably been an involuntary reflex – his canines. Oh, and Crookshanks had hissed. Ridiculous, Harry thought, they were all ridiculous. As Malfoy had started to look more and more mortified at his side, Harry had decided to take the situation into his own hands.

“Hi, everyone, this is Draco, Draco Malfoy, and I invited him because he’s my friend. Questions?”

As they all violently shook their heads, with loud “Why, welcome!” and “Hello!” that sounded so forced and fake Harry had grimaced, he started to think maybe that hadn’t been his greatest idea.

But then, thank Merlin for Hermione.

“Draco, come! You must meet my daughter, and then tell me everything about this Hogwarts purge...” She had taken Malfoy by his arm and dragged him away.

“I brought wine,” he had explained meekly, as Mrs. Malfoy looked at him, her eyes diffident and suspicious.

“How wonderful. Oh, and Harry, Happy Birthday! Big three-o!”

After that, the party had become a blur of his friends and family interrogating Malfoy and making sure he wasn’t, well, evil, as they consumed an alarming amount of food and wine. Malfoy had brought an entire crate of their famous wine, and that was how they ended together on the sofa splitting the bottle between them.

“That went well,” Malfoy said in a hiss, taking a long gulp of his wine.

“I honestly think it wasn’t that bad,” Harry protested. That wine was good, he was already on his fourth glass. Now he understood why the Malfoys were so rich.

“Not so bad! Weasley asked me if…”

“In this setting, you’ll have to specify which Weasley.”

“Oh, perfect, fine. _Ronald_ asked me if I had the Mark!”

They kept fake smiles on for every time someone looked in on them from the kitchen.

“To be fair, he’s tactless and insensitive to everyone, not just you.”

“Well, that changes everything.”

“It does?”

“No, you idiot, it doesn’t. Here they come. Hi!” The last word had been a curious mix of fake cheerfulness and fear. They both gave Mrs. Weasley huge smiles as she approached them with a tray of canapés. She replied with a strained smile of her own.

“Draco, Hermione was asking after you in the garden.”

“Oh, I’ll go on out,” he replied politely. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to take the bottle with him, but then he just left empty-handed. Harry was left alone with Ron’s mum.

“So…” he began, awkwardness seeping off of him.

“I don’t trust him,” she said unceremoniously, dropping the tray heavily on the coffee table. “And I don’t understand why you’ve brought him.”

Harry sighed. “Mrs. Weasley…”

“Molly.”

They had been playing this game for fourteen years. She knew Harry couldn’t call her by her first name, just couldn’t – she was _Ron’s mum_ – but she always tried.

“Listen,” Harry started again, fixing her with a serious stare, “I know there’s history. Between him and me, and also with all of you. But he’s a lot nicer now. And we’re friends. Genuinely friends,” he added, as she rose her eyebrows. She sat next to him on the sofa.

“Harry, tell me honestly: are you lonely? Because I have a friend of mine with a daughter that…”

“No! No, no, no!” Harry replied hastily. Mrs. Weasley had already tried to pair him off with at least four girls. He had sworn he would never let her again after one of her friends’ daughters had tried to have sex with him in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron. “I’m not friends with him because I’m lonely, I’m fine!”

“Harry, if you want distance from our family I’ll understand. After all, this situation can’t be easy for you… what with Ginny and Ethan…”

Harry wanted to Stun himself. He couldn’t believe she had gone there.

“Mrs. Weasley, I want you to listen to me carefully. Ok?”

She nodded, but looked ready for another fight. What a difficult woman.

“I’m not sad. I’m not lonely. I don’t resent Ginny. I don’t care about her and Ethan. And you, all of you, are my family, and I would never give you up.” This, at least, seemed to satisfy her. “I don’t want a relationship, not unless I’m actually interested, and I’m not interested in anyone at the moment. Malfoy is a good man-” She opened her mouth to reply, but Harry stopped her. “No, he is. Hermione can vouch for him, too. I’ve been helping him out with the purge at the castle for months, and he’s fun to be around. He’s also great at his job. I genuinely like him, and I wanted him to be here for my birthday. Now, tell me honestly. Can you find it in your heart to give him the benefit of the doubt? Because if you can’t, we’ll leave, and I’ll never bring him again.”

She looked at him for a long time, so long that Harry started to wonder if he had broken her. But just as he was about to ask her if she knew what year it was, she abruptly rose and clapped her hands.

“Fine!” she exclaimed. “I have my doubts, but I trust you. I’ll tell the others to lay off.”

“Thank you!” Harry rose as well and hugged her, even if she remained a bit stiff and only begrudgingly returned the hug.

The rest of the party went smoothly, with Molly hissing and sending glares at anyone who was less than gentlemanly polite towards Malfoy. They sang Happy Birthday to him as Malfoy rolled his eyes at the gigantic Gryffindor-themed cake that came floating from the kitchen with thirty candles on it. By the end of the night, for some reason, Rose decided that Malfoy was the best thing since sliced bread, and after tormenting him for a solid thirty minutes, she finally fell asleep on Malfoy’s lap.

“Oh, isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” Hermione asked Ron, cooing. By the look of it, Ron did not think so, but said nothing. Harry had to admit that he had no idea which was cuter: Rose with her chubby cheeks pressed against Malfoy’s tailored robes or Malfoy’s look of profound disconcertment. He made a mental note to tease him for it later.

As Harry collected his presents and said goodbye to everyone, Malfoy managed to pry Rose off finger by finger and back into her crib, and even went inside to thank Molly for everything.

“That cake was truly amazing,” he shyly admitted. Harry had seen him scarf down about four servings, so he believed him. However, compliments on her cooking skills were also the key to unlock Mrs. Weasley’s unending affections, and as she blushed and pretended it was nothing, Harry knew that she had capitulated. Thank Merlin.

They decided to Apparate in Hogsmeade – the walk to the castle would help them digest the huge amount of food they’d had.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Harry said, clapping a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. He looked affronted.

“Your family is insane, you eat insane amounts of food and that child ruined my robes with her drool,” he enumerated, counting on his fingers. “Oh, and I had to spend about twenty minutes with Mr. Weasley in his garage, looking at every single object Muggles ever made and faking enthusiasm so he wouldn't think I still hated Muggles.”

“Oh, come on, you loved Rose. And you enjoyed yourself!”

“It’s called wine, Potter.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t ever ask you to come again,” Harry conceded, knowing Malfoy was just pretending to be pissed. It worked.

“I didn’t say that. Oh, and by the way, here…” He rustled through his messenger bag, and then took out two neatly wrapped gifts. “I didn’t want to give them to you in front of everyone…”

Harry was shocked. “You didn’t have to get me anything, nevermind two things…”

Malfoy shrugged, “I wasn’t sure about the first, so I got a backup. Open the backup first.” He handed him a small, rectangular gift wrapped in green paper. Harry opened it and found a small book with a leather cover.

“ _Hexes, Curses, Jinxes and their Undoing,_ ” he read aloud. “I know this book! It’s really, really rare. This is a great gift, thank you.” He couldn’t hide a bit of embarrassment. The gift was truly spot-on, and given the state of the book, Malfoy had probably taken it from his own private collection.

“Good,” Malfoy said. He looked awkward as well. “And now for the second.”

Harry unwrapped it carefully, sensing that it was fragile from Malfoy’s almost worried look. When he saw what it was, and it almost fell from his hands.

“I…” He opened his mouth at least five times, but nothing came out of it. It was a picture of his mum.

“My mother was a bit of a shutterbug during her years in Hogwarts,” Malfoy explained, looking cautious and ready to take a beating. “She took photos of everyone. Looking through her albums, I found this one, and she agreed to let you have it.”

Lily looked amazing; young, and beautiful. She was in her Hogwarts uniform, about sixteen or so, standing against a pillar, a book held open. Then, out of the frame, someone must have called her, because she turned abruptly, and her face erupted into the brightest smile Harry had ever seen. She walked towards the person calling her, red hair swishing behind her back and her green eyes glittering.

It was the most beautiful picture of his mum Harry had ever seen. The frame itself was gorgeous, intricate silver patterns and small red stones. He was speechless. To his horror, he felt himself tearing up.

Before he could even begin to thank Malfoy, he found himself wrapping his arms around him. His heart was beating so fast that he barely noticed Malfoy’s was even faster than his. He should have felt awkward – he was hugging and tearing up in front of his old school rival, after all – but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel self-conscious. It felt right. And good.

Hesitantly, Malfoy returned the hug, and they stayed like that for Merlin knows how long, until they finally relaxed. When they separated, Harry felt cold, and desperate to do it again. What the hell was happening to him?

“So it’s not too much?” Malfoy asked, timidly, bowing his head to look into Harry’s downcast eyes.

“It’s perfect. I can’t thank you enough,” Harry replied, his voice husky. He cleared his throat and finally resumed walking towards the castle, Malfoy right beside him and the gifts carefully held in his arms. Now, the silly dispenser he had given Malfoy for his birthday looked even sillier. “I’ll send a thank you note to your mother, too.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

By the time they reached Malfoy’s rooms, which were on the way to Harry’s, he started to fidget. He didn’t want to leave him. _What the hell is happening?_ he asked himself again for the umpteenth time.

“Thank you for the evening,” Malfoy said politely. “It really wasn’t so bad.”

“Thank you for the gifts. And for coming,” Harry answered. They both said nothing for a beat, looking everywhere but in the other’s eyes.

“Happy Birthday, Harry.”

Harry registered three things at once. One, Malfoy had called him Harry. Two, for a split second, he thought he had felt the shadow of Malfoy’s lips on his cheek. Three, Malfoy disappeared behind his door before he could react.

He stood in the corridor for at least fifteen minutes, wondering whether his tired mind had played a trick on him. He was truly exhausted; he was probably imagining things.

That night, he dreamt of grey eyes and awkward situations and once again, upon waking up, he wondered what the hell was going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, shy idiots!  
> As usual, feedback is extremely appreciated, especially comments *wink wink*  
> Thank you for reading! And thanks akablue as usual for Beta Reading this chapter :)


	5. Chapter 5

Harry tried to work out the reason why all of a sudden he wanted to spend so much time around Malfoy, but he didn’t have time: he was too busy constantly being around Malfoy.

As they slowly and methodically purged the castle of all Dark Magic, he found himself panicking that the list was getting shorter. The moment he was done, Malfoy would pack up his stuff and go back to the Ministry, and then Merlin knew when he would see him again. Rationally, he knew that you didn’t need to live in the same castle to meet with a friend. Irrationally, he couldn’t understand why he even worried in the first place. Tragically, he was no closer to a solution than he was the day of his birthday.

The point was, Malfoy was _funny_. After the war Harry had been very keen to discourage every attempt at making him a hero, almost an idol, and it had worked, but only to a degree. A lot of people still looked at him like some kind of rock star, and avoided disagreeing with him, and generally never gave him a hard time about anything. Not even when he was intentionally difficult.

Malfoy called him out on his shit. He couldn’t care less about his image or history, and six years of school had deprived him of any shyness when it came to insulting him. Harry found his honesty refreshing. He was an addict: he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Your hair looks ridiculous,” Malfoy told him one morning as he efficiently destroyed a flesh-eating plant.

“I know,” Harry replied, self-consciously trying to push it down. His hair truly was a disaster. Thank Merlin it only grew on top and not on the sides, or he would have looked like the wizard with the Afro wig he had put the Ravenclaw diadem on. “That’s why I tamp it down every morning.”

“That’s what makes it look ridiculous, if you ask me.”

“So, what, I should just let it be wild?”

Malfoy shrugged and bagged a particularly nasty species of poisonous bean. They were about to finish their work at the greenhouse after five days of intense work. The former Prohibited Section of the greenhouse would serve as Neville’s new office, once it was refurbished and cleaned up.

“Looks more natural that way. You look like a clerk like this.”

Harry scoffed and pretended not to listen to him. And yet, the following morning, he just couldn’t bring himself to charm his hair down.

“Not a word,” he hissed to Malfoy as they moved to the Prohibited Section of the library to remove the more dangerous books... and shelves... and Madam Pince, if Harry had his way. Malfoy obeyed, but his satisfied smirk still annoyed Harry – but not really. He decided that he did look better with his hair wild and never did the charm again. Stupid Malfoy.

It was probably all in his head, but the castle already felt different. He always thought that Hogwarts was sentient, that it had a way of showing its gratitude, or disapproval. The air after the final battle had been terrible, as if the castle was in mourning with them. Right now, Hogwarts felt… grateful.

When he mentioned it to Malfoy, he didn’t brush him off as he expected.

“Well, of course,” he explained at dinner. The Great Hall felt huge without the students, and half the teachers were away for the summer holidays. Celia was at Meditation Camp. “All things that have been imbued with magic for enough time assume personality-like traits. And Hogwarts has been imbued with more magic than the human brain can conceive, and for a very long time.”

Harry wondered if that was why Grimmauld Place had always felt so inhospitable, as if centuries of Blacks had transmitted some traits of their evil personalities into the place. It probably was. _Look at Kreacher_ , he thought.

McGonagall was the only one staying at the castle for the entire summer, and Harry had the distinct impression that she was keeping an eye on them. Why, he had no idea. He thought she should be pleased that they were – against all expectations – actually getting along quite well. He felt her sharp, discerning eyes on the two on them at almost every meal.

And then one day, Harry woke up and went to have breakfast. As usual, he poured Malfoy’s tea in a cup, so that it would be at perfect sipping temperature by the time he showed up, and drank his morning coffee. Except Malfoy did not show up. Harry waited for twenty minutes before giving up and asking McGonagall whether she knew anything about Malfoy's absence.

“I don’t,” she answered, looking curious as well. “He sent me a memo this morning, saying he was taking the day off. He did not specify why, and I did not ask. After all, I’m not his boss.”

Harry frowned. His first thought was to put it away from his mind. It wasn’t like he needed to know everything Malfoy did, and maybe he just wanted a day off to rest. It was a great reason to go and spend some time with Hermione, Ron and Rose, especially since he read in the Prophet that the forecast for Devon was pretty amazing.

With that idea in mind, he popped his head in to check if it was okay, and then promptly joined them for a day at the beach. Shell Cottage looked more beautiful than ever in the shining light of August.

“Hey,” Hermione said to him. She was wearing a one-piece bathing suit, a sarong and a giant straw hat. She looked like a tourist. Ron, on the other hand, was playing with Rose in the water. He looked way more excited than she did. Fleur quietly sunbathed on her towel as Dom and Louis patiently waited for her permission to go and splash in the water with their Uncle and cousin. “What’s going on between you and Malfoy?”

“Huh?” Harry said, turning his head sharply. He had been lost in his thoughts.

“Malfoy,” she repeated slowly, as she often did when she thought Harry was being deliberately obtuse. “Are you really friends?”

Harry shrugged. He really couldn’t explain it himself. “I suppose.”

Hermione, however, knew how to be relentless when she wanted information.

“Then why did he not come today? I hope you invited him.”

“No. I…” Harry sighed. There went his chance to stop thinking about Malfoy for three blasted minutes. “He took the day off. I don’t know why. I didn’t want to bother him.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows and gave him a look of wonder.

“Wow. That must be hard for you. Not knowing what he’s up to.”

“I’m not an obsessive person, Hermione, for the last time.”

“Whatever you say, Harry.” She pulled her hat over her eyes and finally looked ready to drop the topic. Harry was grateful. But of course, Ron was Ron.

“She’s right, mate,” he said, sitting down on a towel and shaking like a dog. Rose was making sand castles on the shore with her cousins. “Must be driving you mad. Didn’t you check on the Map?”

Harry gritted his teeth.

“Now, why would I check on the Map? He can do what he wants. I don’t need to keep tabs on him anymore, not when I’m pretty sure he’s not running away to build stuff for Voldemort.”

A poignant silence followed. Hermione was doing a really bad job at pretending not to be interested.

“So, where was he this morning?” Ron asked. Sometimes Harry hated having friends who knew him so damn well.

“In his rooms,” he admitted with a sigh, deciding it was best to let them have this one. “He’s been in his rooms all day. I’ve… checked a couple times.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, suddenly alive again. “Maybe he’s sick.”

Harry frowned. “You think? By why wouldn’t he say so to McGonagall, then?”

“Well, he doesn’t really answer to her,” Ron mused. “Maybe it’s something embarrassing. Maybe he has the runs, or something.”

“Disgusting, Ronald. Anyway, you’re friends, right? You can go and visit him after you come back. Nothing weird about that.”

By the way she said it, Harry thought she did find it weird, but she also gave him the excuse he had been looking for all day, so he wasn’t going to complain about it.

“And if you ever find out his Patronus is a ferret, remember: I’m the first one to know,” Ron said, getting back up and going to collect Rose. “You owe me that.”

Harry couldn’t stop the chuckle from coming out of his mouth.

“What?” Hermione asked. “Don’t tell me it’s really…”

“It’s a Hippogriff,” Harry interrupted her. They both looked pensive for a moment, and then they started laughing their arses off at the exact same time. Annoying couples.

“Not a word,” Harry threatened. “Not to anyone. It’s bad enough I’m telling you…”

“Merlin, that is rich!”

 

***  
  


Harry had no idea what to do. He wanted to see Malfoy, and that was an undeniable truth. But he also didn’t want to crowd him or intrude. It was his day off, right?

He thought maybe he could play it off by bringing some soup or something, but he couldn’t cook, and Malfoy could ask the House Elves for anything he needed. However, it was his only idea, and that is how he found himself at Malfoy’s door, with a bowl of chicken broth made for him by an overly enthusiastic Elf named Bonk. He silently thanked Merlin that he was the only one that had a Marauder’s Map, because he really didn’t want anyone to know that he had hovered outside the door for twenty minutes now.

 _Bloody hell, you’re a Gryffindor, act like it_ , he reminded himself. He knocked.

“Go away,” Malfoy answered. His voice was muffled, but Harry could definitely tell something was wrong.

“Malfoy? It’s me. It’s Harry. Potter. It’s Harry Potter.” _Right the first time, idiot._

“Yeah, did you not hear me saying ‘go away’?”

Even stranger. Frowning, Harry tried not to sound too pissed.

“Well, okay. I thought you might be sick, and I brought you soup. I’ll leave it right outside.”

Silence. Damn, now he was more curious than ever. But if Malfoy didn’t want to see him, there was nothing he could do about it. He put the bowl down and reluctantly left. This being mature thing was harder than he thought.

 

***  
  


It was 2 AM before Harry decided to confiscate the Map from himself and go to bed. He needed to put this out of his mind, and possibly get some sleep too. He always found it difficult to sleep when something was on his mind, and that night was no exception. He tossed and turned and he sighed and threatened himself with starvation if he got up and looked at the Map again – which he did, three times – until finally, finally, his eyes started to feel heavy.

And of course, that was when someone knocked at his door.

Cursing the day he ever met Malfoy, he got up and went to the door of his office.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“You know who it is.”

Dramatic as ever. The moment he opened the door, Malfoy strode in and went right for his favourite armchair, the one to the left of the fireplace. He sat down heavily and stared at Harry.

Harry could tell something was really wrong. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair looked like he had tried to pull it out. It was so messy, it resembled his own.

“So, make yourself at home, and please, sit on that armchair,” he deadpanned, closing the door and going for the armchair opposite the one Malfoy was sitting in.

Malfoy said nothing and kept looking at him.

“Okay, I’m starting to get worried. Did I do something? Are you here to murder me?”

Somehow, that seemed to break Malfoy out of his trance.

“It’s my father.”

“Oh.” Sensing that it couldn’t be good news, Harry Summoned two glasses of Firewhiskey, and then, just to be sure, decided to Summon the entire bottle as well. He offered one to Malfoy, who immediately took a large sip.

“I went to see him last night.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“Yes.”

Harry thought it best to let him elaborate. This didn’t seem the kind of thing you could push on.

“He failed the Ministry’s programme. His sentence remains unchanged.”

“I see.” Harry was surprised by that. A man like Lucius first and foremost sought his own interests. He thought he would have done anything to pass the programme and reduce his sentence. “May I ask why?”

Draco took another generous sip from his glass. “Because he refuses to cooperate,” he said with barely repressed anger. “He thinks that the programme was designed by the Ministry to brainwash inmates. He thinks that they want to make him renounce his Slytherin and Pureblood pride. He thinks,” he added, looking at Harry straight in the eye, “that this is just another way to humiliate and shame him.”

Harry had no idea what to say. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “have you tried explaining to him…”

“No, Potter, I didn’t try to convince him, because I’m a moron,” Malfoy interrupted him sharply. He looked furious.

“Well, sorry. I’m sorry about Lucius. But why does it sound like you think I’m responsible for that?”

Malfoy said nothing for a long moment. “Nevermind,” he blurted after a while, downing the rest of his Firewhisky and standing up. “I’ll leave now. Thanks for the drink.”

“Malfoy, wait! What the hell?” Harry got up as well and grabbed him by his wrist. Malfoy looked at him, scandalised, and Harry promptly let him go. Tonight, he had no idea where he stood with Malfoy. He looked as if Harry’s very existence offended him.

“I’m not like you, Potter.” The way he said his name was like a punch in the gut. It was as if they were in school again, and his name was something to spit out, something revolting. “I’m not. I don’t talk about _feelings_ , I’m not an open person, and I hate – _I hate_ – the way you’re looking at me right now.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” Harry drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Sorry for trying to have a normal, human interaction. You’re right. Better to keep everything bottled up until one day you explode and reveal your old git self.”

“I’m not like my old self,” Malfoy hissed, taking a step towards him, “and you know it. Neither is my father, he’s changed, too, but you wouldn’t care about that, now, would you?”

“What are you talking about?!” Harry screamed. Now he wanted to tear out his hair like Malfoy seemed to have done.

“All Slytherins are inherently evil. My family is bad. A Death Eater can never change.” He rolled up his left sleeve and showed Harry the Dark Mark. It was almost completely faded, but still stood out on Malfoy’s impossibly pale skin. He hated the mere sight of it.

“Malfoy… Draco. Listen to me. Really listen, okay?”

Malfoy – Draco – ignored him until he heard his first name. Apparently, that got his attention. Unable to help himself, Harry took a final step towards him and took Draco’s face in his hands. He had no idea why. It just felt right.

“You may not be an open person, but I am. So listen closely. I don’t think being in Slytherin means anything bad. Not inherently.” Draco scoffed and tried to break eye contact, but Harry’s hands kept him firmly in place. “I’m sorry for your father, both because you’ll have to live without your father for another seven years and because I believe in that programme. And I believe you, if you say he’s changed.” Now Draco seemed mesmerised by Harry’s words. Maybe he was finally finding the right words. “I helped design that programme, you know. I know for a fact that we do not want to brainwash anyone. Your pride is a good thing, so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. I don’t want you to think for a second that I could ever be that prejudiced, and I don’t want to have this conversation again. So tell me: do you believe me?”

For some reason, Harry felt exhausted. And not just because he desperately needed sleep. He felt that this last obstacle had to be removed in order to finally have a healthy relationship with him. He needed to know that they had gotten it out of the way. “Do you believe me?” he repeated. Their foreheads were so close they were almost touching. But just as he was about to give up hope, Draco nodded. Harry saw a small tear rolling down his cheek and graciously ignored it. He released Draco’s face and waited for him to talk.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said after a minute. “These things are… hard for me. It’s not how I was brought up. Makes me feel like an idiot to even talk about it.”

“You can always tell me anything that’s on your mind,” Harry reassured him. He hoped his sincerity came across to Draco, who looked strangely calculating.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Anything.”

He thought maybe another revelation was on the way, but Draco seemed to deflate. All of a sudden, he looked exhausted beyond measure.

“I really need to get some sleep,” he announced. Harry nodded, moving towards the door to bid him goodnight, but Draco stayed rooted to his spot.

“Mind if I stay on the sofa?” he asked, almost timidly. “My room is a bit of a mess right now” he added in explanation.

“Of course,” Harry said. “You sure you don’t want my bed?”

“No, sofa’s fine, thank you.”

As he grabbed some blankets and a pillow for him, Harry noticed that when he was tired, Draco’s posh accent started to sound less constructed and much more natural. He liked that.

The moment he gave him everything he needed, Draco unceremoniously collapsed on the sofa and roughly arranged the covers around him. His breath evened out less than two minutes after that.

Part of Harry wanted to stay up and mull over everything that happened and that had been said, but he was really tired, too. And staring at Draco as he slept felt a bit like a creeper move.

Reluctantly, he went to bed – for the second time in that long, long day. This time, however, he fell asleep almost instantly, leaving the door open and feeling oddly comforted by the presence of Draco in the living room.

The next morning, he woke up and found Draco gone. Using the Map, he went to find him, but the awkwardness and further discussion he expected were non-existent. Draco acted his normal self, cheerfully asking him to help destroy some old, toxic potions in the dungeons’ pantry.

It was like it had never happened, and Harry was more confused than ever.

  
  
  
***  
  


As the last days of August approached – and, with them, the return of the students – Draco started to grow antsy. The school’s purge was almost complete, thanks to their joint efforts. According to Draco, “I need another few weeks to do another inspection and check if there’s anything I missed the first time.  Besides, I want to see the Sorting Ceremony.”

They had – with a few protests from the teachers – even sealed the passage to the Shrieking Shack through the Whomping Willow. The Willow itself was now surrounded by a Permanent Wall, making sure it wouldn’t be able to harm students anymore. The charm required reinforcing every five or so years, but most of the teachers knew how to do it, so Draco wouldn’t need to come back. The castle had never been so safe – except for the forest, but Harry avidly hoped the students weren’t as dumb as he had been and made no attempt to go there. After a long discussion, they had even permanently sealed the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Harry had lost his ability to speak Parseltongue, but the still remembered the basics, like 'Open'. Only a few loose ends remained. And the blasted cabinet.

“It makes no sense,” Draco said to him on a chilly Friday afternoon, as they attempted to destroy it yet again. By now, they had tried everything they knew, and between the two of them and McGonagall, that was saying something. “It doesn’t act like a curse, or a hex. It’s not protected by any magical walls I can detect. It’s not even disturbed by our attacks, it just… sits there and emanates pure evil.”

Harry nodded, perplexed. The only logical course remaining had been to search the school’s archives, to see when and by whom the cabinet had been installed. After two days of excruciatingly frustrating research, they had found a tiny note on a budget document from 1867. It said that the new Headmaster, Edmundus Clitherow, had brought, upon promotion to Headmaster, some of his personal effects to the castle, including a black cabinet with runes carved on it. It fit the description.

“Look at this,” Harry had said to Malfoy, showing him an article from the Prophet. “Looks like he met a bad end.” Clitherow had not been a nice wizard; the only mark he ever left at Hogwarts had been Muggleborn restrictions and the explicit prohibition of same-sex couples. He also fired a famous Professor who then went on to become the next Minister of Magic.

“Lovely bloke,” Draco had commented, raising his eyebrows. “Apparently, he got himself killed by means of Killing Curse at age 71, by wizards he owed a lot of money to.”

“And look,” Harry had laughed, pointing at a detail. “He was Sorted into Hufflepuff. Way to fight the stereotypes.”

“Hard worker indeed,” Draco had said. “Worked relentlessly to make sure everyone hated him. Look at this.” And then he had shown him another article, a eulogy from one of the Professors at the school in that time, eloquently titled 'Good Riddance'.

So, Clitherow had been a bad wizard. A dark one, probably. That brought them no closer to a solution, though.

“Let me get another look,” Harry said, sighing. By now, they were just trying the same things again and again. He got as close as possible to the cabinet without touching it. Draco had given him an idea. He tried to listen for something, anything. To his surprise, that close to the cabinet, he could actually hear something. “It’s whispering,” he said, frowning. Draco joined him. “Listen. It’s nonsense, but it’s saying something.”

“It’s probably just humming,” Draco hypothesised. “Strong dark magic does that sometimes.”

“Maybe.” But Harry was not convinced. There was something odd. Something out of place. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, yet… “I need to talk to Hermione,” he said. “You’re staying here?”

“Might as well,” Draco replied without tearing his eyes off the cabinet.

“See you later.”

Harry walked towards his office lost in his thoughts. His idea was… awful. But it would explain why the cabinet felt so evil and why it was impossible to destroy. He just hoped he was wrong.

 

  
***  
  


After talking to Hermione, Harry was quite sure that his theory was correct. Unfortunately, he also had a pounding headache. The discussion had been long and taxing, and frankly, it brought up unwanted memories.

“I think I know what it is,” he said to Draco, sitting next to him at dinner. His head felt heavy and filled with cotton. He slowly massaged his temples. Maybe he’d go to Pomfrey after dinner.

“Oh?” Draco said, curious. “Are you okay?” he added, frowning, looking at Harry’s tired face.

“What? Yes, just a headache. I’ll go to Pomfrey after dinner,” Harry explained. “I think it’s a Horcrux,” he whispered. He didn’t want McGonagall to hear yet, even though she’d find out eventually.

“Oh,” Draco said, his eyes going as wide as saucers. “ _Oh._ ”

“Yes, ‘ _oh'_.”

They let that hang for a few minutes, pensively chewing on their meal.

“So, I assume you know how to deal with those?” Draco said after a while, avoiding his gaze. Harry understood. No one ever wanted to talk about Horcruxes with him, especially after the whole story had become public domain. Nobody wanted to talk about Horcruxes with someone who’d been one.

Hermione had tried to keep it a secret, since people didn’t really need to know that such dark magic even existed, but eventually the official Ministry report had leaked. They suspected Skeeter was involved.

“I do,” Harry said. “It’s ugly, and complicated, and given that we’ve closed the Chamber and we have no Basilisk venom at our disposal… there are only two ways I know.”

Draco was looking at him strangely, and Harry was forcing himself to keep his eyes on the plate. He didn’t want to see his worried face.

“I think it’s best you sit this one out,” he said carefully after a while. “I can deal with it.”

“No,” Harry answered. “There’s no need. And it’s always better to have more than one person in the room.”

Draco sighed, but probably sensed that that battle was lost already.

“So, how do you do it?”

“Either Fiendfyre or the Sword of Gryffindor. Your choice.”

“I won’t use Fiendfyre indoors. It’s like asking for trouble,” Draco said immediately. “Can you procure the sword?”

Harry thought about how the sword always came to him in times of need. To the point that once, it had even fallen on his head. “Oh, yes,” he replied with a small smirk.

“Good. Tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll have to ask McGonagall, the sword is in her office. But yes.”

“Okay.”

They finished their desserts and walked back towards their rooms in companionable silence. It was obvious they were both thinking about the implications – Hogwarts riddled with Inferi, and even Horcruxes. The castle truly had been a dark place before the purge. It was sad to think about how many students had been hurt during the centuries, but at least they had done something to prevent it. And that one last step would make sure Hogwarts was finally clean and safe for everyone.

“Well, then…”

As usual, they had reached Harry’s rooms first. Draco was looking at him oddly. This happened more and more lately, and it confused Harry to no end. Every now and then, Draco would stop and look at him like he was trying to say something, or figure something out, and then it ended with him just… staring at Harry. With a meaningful look. For a number of seconds.

Harry looked back, trying to look friendly and accessible, but as usual, Draco remained silent. Harry’s fingers were itching to reach.

“You… had a good intuition,” Draco finally said. _Damn_.

“Oh, that… yeah. The silver lining of having been in the middle of a lot of shit.”

“How’s your head?” Draco asked. To Harry’s surprise, he reached out and touched his right temple with his fingertips. Harry almost startled at how cold his hand was, but he forced himself to stay still. For some reason, he found the touch very soothing, and didn’t want it to end.

“It’s better, actually,” he whispered. They were close. Very close. Uncomfortably close.

“Good.” Why were they whispering? Why were they so close? “Good night, then.” Draco removed his fingers and Harry found himself disappointed. He had no idea what he hoped would happen, or didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he was disappointed nonetheless.

“Good night,” he replied with a sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He went to bed and didn’t even realise that his headache was completely gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did tell you this was slow burn, right?  
> I can tell you that the next chapter will be the decisive one. No spoilers, though.  
> I would like to put out the bat signal for a Beta, actually! If anyone's interested, I would love to get a second opinion, English not being my first language.  
> As usual, thank you for reading, and thanks to akablue for Beta Reading :) XX


	6. Chapter 6

“A Horcrux?” McGonagall asked, flabbergasted. “Are you sure?”

“No, but we’ll find out soon enough,” Harry replied with a sombre look. “May I have the sword?”

McGonagall waved at the shelf on which the Sorting Hat rested. “Be my guest.”

Harry took the Hat and put his hand in it. Rustling around, nothing happened. The sword evaded him. Feeling as if he should have known, he put the Hat on his head. It finally fit without going over his eyes.

“My, my, Mr. Potter,” a voice inside his head immediately greeted him. Harry cringed. “Oh, why the long face? Is there something you don’t want me to see inside your head?”

Harry tried to think of anything – anything – but the Hat expertly avoided all his attempts at deflecting. A pair of grey eyes appeared behind his eyelids.

“Ahhhh, I see,” the Hat said, his tone knowing and smug. “I’m not as surprised as you would think, you know.”

“Can I just have the sword, please?” Harry thought furiously, gritting his teeth. McGonagall was starting to look worried at his evident discomfort.

“That might be difficult. You see, there is more Slytherin in your head than when I last let you have the sword.”

“That’s absurd,” Harry shot back. “I’m a Gryffindor, nothing can change that.”

“Oh, you young thing. Your core cannot change, but everything else seldom stays the same.”

“My core is Gryffindor, and you know it,” he thought. “And I’m not turning… Slytherin.”

“No, you are not,” the Hat conceded. “However, I see that your allegiances have shifted considerably. More than you realise. This level of affection changes a person in ways you cannot understand…”

“AHHHHH!” Harry shouted internally, clenching his fists. McGonagall looked about ready to call Pomfrey and have his head examined. “Just because I’ve made a Slytherin friend it doesn’t mean I’m not a true Gryffindor anymore. Can. I. Have. The. Sword?” He snarled the last part out loud. McGonagall flinched.

“Very well,” the Hat said. Harry had the impression it was sighing. “After all, your intentions are pure.”

 _Thunk_. “Of course,” Harry grumbled, taking the Hat off and massaging his head where the sword had fallen on him. Frankly, the Hat was an arsehole.

“Is everything all right?” McGonagall asked, looking at the sword.

“Yes, yes. Just… the Hat being the Hat.”

“I see.”

“I’ll bring back the sword as soon as we’re done,” Harry promised, turning to leave.

“You know, Harry,” she started again. _Harry. Bollocks. I’m in trouble_. “You have surprised me in the last few months.”

“In what way?” Harry asked, frowning.

“In every way. I will see you later.” She sat back on her chair and opened a newspaper. Harry took it as his cue to leave.

  
  
***  
  


“Do you have the sword?” Draco asked him as soon as he walked into his own classroom. Harry nodded and showed it to him. It had felt so big when he was a student. Now, it felt almost like a letter opener.

“Good. I still have one doubt, though.”

“How to get it to open?” Harry asked. Draco nodded. “That’s why I went to talk with Hermione. Horcruxes inside objects that possess some closing mechanism must be opened in order to be destroyed. With the locket, we had to speak Parseltongue. But Hermione is probably the foremost living expert on Horcruxes, and she thinks this,” and he gave Draco a piece of parchment with a formula on it, “may work. It’s an old spell she modified herself.”

Draco studied the words and practiced the movement described in the parchment. “Sounds difficult, but I should be able to manage. Should I do it?”

“That depends,” Harry explained. “I suggest one of us charms it open and the other fights it. But keep this in mind: Horcruxes fight back. And not like other cursed objects, either. They are pieces of soul, so they have a tendency to pinpoint your weaknesses and try to exploit them. At least, that’s what Voldemort did.”

Draco seemed taken aback by the revelation. There still wasn't very much known about Horcruxes, not even by experts like him.

“Well,” he said slowly. “I think it’s best if I fight it. You’ve already done your part when it comes to Horcruxes, I believe.”

“Are you sure?” Harry was nervous. “I can do it.”

“No need,” Draco reassured him. “I can handle it.”

Harry sincerely doubted it, especially since he’d had a glimpse of Draco’s demons, and knew how strong they were. The Horcrux would have a field day.

“Okay, then,” Harry said. He handed Draco the sword, which he gingerly took. It felt out of place in Draco’s hands, but it did not openly reject him. “When you’re ready.”

Draco positioned himself in front of the cabinet and raised the sword. He turned to Harry and, with a look of determination, gave him the sign. Harry took out his wand.

“ _Aperio Umbras,_ ” he cast with a complicated twist of his wrist.

The cabinet door exploded open, blasting Malfoy backwards. Harry went to help him, but Draco stopped him raising a hand. He got up and raised the sword again.

“Well, well, well,” an ominous voice resounded. The room was as dark as if it were night time. The inside of the cabinet looked empty, but then a fog appeared inside and took the form of a sneering old man. “I see that my decrees have been repealed. Once again, Hogwarts is full of degenerates... and Halfbloods,” he said, turning a disgusted look towards Harry. “It does not surprise me. I knew that the moment I perished they would fill the castle with all sorts of filth again. This one, at the very least, is a Pureblood, but that only makes his sodomy more revolting to my eyes.”

“Shut up!” Harry screamed, furious. Draco looked impossibly pale. Had he just been outed by a piece of an arsehole’s soul?

“You filthy mongrel, you dare speak in my presence? You, whose mother was Muggle-spawn?”

“Draco, do it,” Harry growled. He could not wait to see this bastard leave earth for good. Draco raised the sword, but his hesitation was exactly what Clitherow needed.

“Touched a nerve, have I?” he sneered at Draco. “After all, your own parents do not know. In your cowardice, you have not had the heart to tell them their only son is a deviant and a pervert.”

“Draco, don’t listen to him,” Harry pleaded. “Please, he’s just an old bastard trying to get inside your head. I don’t even believe him.”

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” Clitherow laughed cruelly. “And yet, the thought of you seems to be a fixed point inside his head.”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Draco snarled, finding his voice. He raised the sword again and went for the cabinet. “You miserable piece of…”

“You remind me of the boy I killed to create this cabinet. He, too, was weak-willed and filled with impure thoughts.”

Harry felt sick. This bastard had killed a poor boy just because he liked men, and worst of all, he had used his death to try and torment people like him forever.

“Draco, kill him,” he urged. But Draco was paralysed with horror. “Draco!”

Draco did not look at him. His eyes were fixed on the fog, which was slowly turning into the shape of Lucius Malfoy.

“You are a weak, ungrateful little monster,” the fake Lucius sneered, looking at Draco as if he were disgusted by the mere sight of him. “You shame me in every possible way. You are no longer my son.” The fog transformed again, this time resembling Narcissa. “How many times must your selfish and sinful desires ruin our family?” she asked. She looked furious. “How many times must you humiliate us?”

Draco had tears in his eyes, and Harry was starting to get desperate. Clitherow was in his head, and he needed to do something, anything, to snap him out of it.

“Draco, listen to me.” He grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to force him to look at him, but Draco resisted and kept staring at the foggy image of his mother. “Draco, your parents love you. They love you so much. They defied Voldemort himself to protect you, they will always love you. Draco, listen to me!” he shouted in his ear. By now he was clinging to him, trying to make him feel anchored, and safe. He hoped it would work. “Draco, please. They love you. We all do. I do. Please, please, snap out of it. You are not alone, fuck, you’re not alone.”

Draco turned to look at him, at last. He looked devastated. “Get off me,” he said in a rasping voice.

“Draco…”

“Get off me.” Harry took a step back. The evil Narcissa was laughing. Clitherow was winning.

But the moment he backed off, Draco took the sword and violently threw it at the cabinet, right between Narcissa’s eyes.

Harry was familiar with the scream of agony produced by a wounded Horcrux, but he had forgotten how bone-deep terrified it made you feel. The fog turned red, and collapsed on itself, trying to form shapes but unable to do so. Draco reached for him and took his hand in his, and together they watched as the cabinet finally stopped screaming. The light came back to the room, and all that remained of Clitherow was a smoking, broken piece of furniture that would never, ever hurt anyone again.

Harry felt emptied, but extremely satisfied by that notion. They stood there, still, holding hands and panting.

“Well,” Harry said after a while. “That’s that.”

And then he took Draco’s face in his hands and kissed him with all he had. After a moment of profound shock, during which he went completely rigid, Draco started – finally, finally – to kiss him back, and Harry felt like he’d died. Again.

Kissing Draco was nothing like kissing Ginny, or anyone else he’d ever kissed. He didn’t feel calm or peaceful, he felt _consumed_. He wanted to spend the rest of his life kissing him.

One of Draco’s hands went to his hip and the other buried itself in his hair. He hummed, happily accepting Draco’s tongue inside his mouth. He was getting desperate, clawing at Draco’s face and robes, wanting to touch and explore and make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He had no idea kissing could feel like this.

When they had to part, Harry finally opened his eyes, resting his forehead against Draco’s. Draco looked possessed, panting heavily, his eyes still clouded by the apparition of his parents and their scathing words towards him. Harry caressed his high cheekbone, silently vowing to make sure no one would ever talk to him that way ever again.

“So you meant it,” Draco whispered after a while. He pecked Harry’s lips with his own. “I’m not alone.”

Harry smiled, realising this was actually happening. “No, you’re not.”

They kissed again, for a long time. Harry was pretty sure it was lunchtime, but in that moment, food was the farthest thing from his mind. He had a Draco to kiss.

“I had no idea,” Draco said in between kisses. “I really had no idea.”

“Me neither, actually,” Harry answered honestly. Of course, this explained a lot of what he had been feeling lately. But he hadn’t connected the dots yet.

Their kisses turned desperate again. Draco was toying with the clasp of Harry’s robes. When Harry finally gathered his courage and put his hand on the bulge on Draco’s front, massaging him and making him gasp, Draco said: “Your room?”

Harry nodded and took him by the hand. They walked – almost ran, really – towards Harry’s room, laughing and stopping every time they found a secluded spot to kiss some more. It was like they were sixteen again, except Harry never felt like this when he was sixteen. He felt electrically charged, and excited, and giddy.

They finally reached Harry’s room and by the time they got inside and locked the door, Draco was already taking off his robes. As his chest was slowly revealed, Harry stared at him, his mouth dry. The moment the pale expanse of skin was visible, he grabbed Draco by the hips and positioned him on his desk, kissing him, again and again, touching him. His skin felt like heaven on his hands, warm, impossibly smooth, so soft. Draco moaned and kissed him back, finally taking off Harry’s robes and returning his touches. He clasped his legs around Harry’s hips and thrust upwards, making Harry gasp. Even with the trousers and the underwear still in the way, it felt incredible.

Keeping Draco twined with him, he lifted him from the desk and slowly walked towards the bed, never interrupting their kiss. Draco was smiling through the kiss, and Harry took a second to commit that feeling to memory.

Harry put Draco down on the bed. He looked ravished, his hair sticking out, his lips red and his eyes filled with want. He worked on the button of his trousers, simultaneously getting rid of his own shoes. He got Draco’s trousers out of the way, and then looked at him for confirmation when he got to the waistband of his underwear. Draco rolled his eyes, grabbed his wand – it had fallen on the bed when he had taken off the trousers – and before Harry could blink, they were both naked. Completely naked.

He jumped on Draco, relishing the skin to skin contact, and kissed him like his life depended on it. Not a moment later, he felt Draco’s hand closing around him.

“Ah,” he moaned, throwing his head back. Draco’s lips attached to his neck, and his knees went weak. “I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admitted, and Draco laughed.

“Fortunately, I do,” he said with a smile. It was exhilarating seeing Draco looking at him like that, like he was good, and precious, and adored. He had no idea Draco could even look like that.

He let go of Harry and took his wand again. Then, he took Harry’s hand and tapped his wand on it. Harry felt his fingers slickened with some sort of oil.  
“Neat,” he said, raising his eyebrows. Draco kissed him and guided his hand towards his entrance. Harry couldn’t believe this was happening, and was terrified to hurt him. Never breaking eye contact, he breached him with a finger, and Draco gasped and arched his back. More confident, Harry started to work his finger in and out, and before he even had time to ask if he was doing it right, Draco took his hand and guided a second finger in.

Harry was lost. Draco was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Miles and miles of perfect, pale skin, his sharp features gorgeous in the dim light of the bedroom, panting, and with a whole universe inside his grey eyes. On his chest, Harry could see two different types of scars, which hurt him to his core. He bent down to kiss him on the oldest ones, and Draco grabbed his hair and closed his eyes. He looked overwhelmed.

Harry kept kissing his chest while working him open, wanting more than anything in the world to convey that he was never going to hurt him again. He couldn’t believe there was ever a time he hated this beautiful, brilliant man opening up to him in every possible way.

“I’m ready,” Draco said, his voice sounding broken. “I’m ready, Harry.”

Hearing his name, said like that, almost finished Harry, but he knew this part. He positioned himself and Draco, again, twined his legs around Harry’s hips. He slowly and carefully entered him, taking in every detail of Draco’s face, and the amazing sensation of finally being connected to him physically. Draco looked a bit pained, but it took very little for his features to relax.

And when he finally started moving, encouraged by the slight movements of Draco’s hips, he felt like this was always bound to happen. It was such a feeling of absolute certainty that he almost couldn’t take it.

Draco kissed him, pulling his hair, and nothing compared to this. His mind was blank, and he felt almost disconnected to it, only feeling, seeing, and touching. His senses took control of him and drove him deeper into Draco, who in turn started moaning in earnest and touching Harry everywhere. He wanted it to last, and to catalogue every noise coming out of Draco, the way he felt, and how for the first time in his life Harry understood what it meant to lose himself in another person. But unfortunately, it was over all too soon, with Draco clinging to him like a lifeline, coming as well from Harry’s hand on him, and with Harry screaming and bruising Draco’s sides.

He collapsed on top of him, trying desperately not to say what he was thinking, and what had been on his mind from the moment they started. It was too soon for that.

Draco embraced him, and they both panted and held on to each other as they came down from their high. When they finally gained their breath back, they looked at each other and burst into laughing.

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry said, burying his face in the crook of Draco’s shoulder. His body felt both exhausted and invigorated at the same time. Draco caressed his hair and shook in laughter.

 

 

***

  
  


Harry sent a memo to McGonagall, telling her that they had dealt with the cabinet and were taking a half-day off. He didn’t want her coming into his rooms looking for them, as they’d skipped both lunch and dinner. Draco, bless him, had gone down to the kitchens, bringing back some food for them. The brief separation had triggered another round. With their bellies filled and their strength spent, they rested on Harry’s bed, with Harry’s head on Draco’s stomach and Draco’s hand weaving through his hair. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so peaceful.

“Is this a one-time thing?” he asked. It needed to be asked. Draco’s hand never stopped caressing his scalp.

“Do you want it to be?” he asked back. He didn’t look too worried.

“Merlin, no.”

“Good.”

They had yet to discuss what this would mean. Harry didn’t even know he liked men, and Draco knew, but never told his parents, according to that bastard in the cabinet. But it felt too soon. They deserved some bliss before the bubble was burst.

“You know, I’ve had fantasies about this ever since I knew what fantasies were,” Draco said quietly, and Harry rose his head to look him in the eye, surprised.

“Shut up.”

“No, it’s true. Why did you think I was so obsessed with you?”

Harry laughed. “If it helps, I was obsessed with you too.”

“My poor father,” Draco said dramatically, shaking his head. “He had to hear hours and hours of complaining about how stupid you were and how your eyes were the stupidest green in the world.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry laughed, imagining a twelve-year-old Draco tormenting his father, without even knowing why Harry bothered him so much.

“I stand by that,” Draco added. “Your eyes are stupid. Stupidly green.”

“Mmh-mmh,” Harry said, resting his head on his stomach again. “Likewise. Stupidly grey.”

Draco touched his lips with his hand, and Harry kissed his fingertips.

“Imagine if this had happened while we were still in school,” Harry murmured with a smile.

“Oh, dear Merlin, no,” Draco faked shuddering. “Sneaking around all the time? No, thanks, I prefer this.”

“I have a map that shows where everyone is in the castle at all times,” Harry said. “It would have helped.”

“Of course you do,” Draco scoffed. “That actually explains a lot. That and that Invisibility Cloak of yours. You were like a professional bad student.”

“I would have sent you embarrassing notes during classes,” Harry continued, now lost in the fantasy.

“And I would have had to pretend that they were insults, so no one would get suspicious.”

“We would have fought on purpose just to get detention together.”

“And then spent our time in detention snogging senseless.”

“We would have secretly played Quidditch together. At night.”

“And during games I would have pretended to see the Snitch so high that we needed to go above the clouds. And then…”

“Mid-air snogging,” Harry finished for him, laughing.

“Exactly. I would have shared the sweets my mother sent me with you,” Draco added, like that was the biggest concession of all.

“And I would have taught you self-defence.”

“As if I needed your help! Okay, back then I did. Still.”

“Eventually, though, everyone would have found out.”

Draco nodded. “Your friends would have given you a hard time.”

“Just Ron. Hermione would have understood. Actually, a part of me thinks they always expected this to happen.”

“Same goes for my parents. Eventually, they would have all accepted it. And I would have taken it as a personal challenge to snog you as publicly and indiscreetly as possible, making everyone – including you – feel awkward as hell.”

“Well,” Harry mused. “I would have taken you to Madam Puddifoot's in retaliation. Bought you flowers and everything. And called you, I don’t know, Cuddle Muffin. Or maybe Lovey-Bear. If the situation arose, I would have even considered Drakey-darling.”

“Well, that would have been okay with me, Honeybunch. I honestly love being pampered. Especially by my Hawy-Bewy.”

“Imagine going to the Yule Ball together,” Harry grimaced. Maybe with Draco that experience wouldn’t have been terrible.

“Who’d have asked who?”

“Well, me, obviously,” Harry replied, shrugging. “I’m the one who’s taken the initiative.”

“Whatever. I would have said no. Kept you hanging until the very last.”

“Ppft. I would have asked someone else out and then you’d have gone mad with jealousy.”

“This might be a good time to mention, I’m actually extremely jealous.”

“I know. I don’t know how, but I do. And then I would have stepped on your feet the whole night.”

“I’m an excellent dancer, I would have led you effortlessly. But I think after a while, we would have just gone to the bushes to snog. That’s actually how my first kiss happened. Pansy is _not_ a good kisser, if you want to know.”

Harry didn’t. But he didn’t feel like sharing that.

“I would have bought you a ridiculous amount of sweets every time we went to Hogsmeade.”

“Of course, you would have had a lot to be forgiven for.”

“Why on earth?”

“Well, Sweetie-Pie, we would have argued all the time. You probably would have demanded that I get along with Weasley.”

“Definitely,” Harry agreed. “And you would have had a lot to make up for, since you treated my friends like shit.”

“Ah, I would have secretly loved them, though,” Draco added. “Just wouldn’t want to give you the satisfaction.”

“Imagine McGonagall during the meals in the Great Hall. ‘Mr. Malfoy, if I see you having dinner at the Gryffindor table again, and on Mr. Potter’s lap of all things, there will be consequences’.”

“’Potter,’” Draco said in a very good imitation of Snape. “’Detach yourself from Mr. Malfoy. He does not deserve this, nor does anyone else’.”

Harry laughed and kissed his stomach.

“I wouldn’t have joined the Death Eaters,” Draco added. Harry’s good humour vanished abruptly. “I would have fought by your side.”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” Harry said quietly. The room’s temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees. “Voldemort would have made it his mission to target you. I would have hidden you.”

“And I wouldn’t have listened to you. I would’ve wanted to help you.”

Harry got up and looked him in the eyes. Draco looked serious, and grim, and he didn’t want him to look like that. He kissed him softly. “I would have done anything to protect you. But let’s not think about that.”

Draco frowned, but returned the kiss. He seemed on the fence about something.

“Tell me honestly,” he said, avoiding his gaze. “Do you resent me? In any way? I don’t want this to come up later.”

“Look at me,” Harry took him gently by the chin and turned his face towards him. Draco looked scared. “The only thing I resent is not doing this earlier. Do you understand?”

Draco nodded and kissed him. Before long, they were ready for round three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't deny it, I'm a lot nervous about this chapter. I'm glad they finally came to their senses but I'm always nervous when I have to write smut. I'm more comfortable with fluff and humour.  
> I really really really hope you liked it and I would love some feedback, be it positive or negative. Thank you for reading and sweet dreams! (it's night where I am LOL)  
> And thank you akablue for Beta Reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Leaving Draco the following morning was one of the hardest things Harry had ever done. They kept kissing and kissing on the doorstep until breakfast time was almost over. Finally, Harry went on to the Great Hall and Draco to his rooms, to get changed and meet him there later.

Harry kept reliving that morning’s conversation as he walked towards the smell of bacon and fried eggs.

“I don’t want this to be more difficult than it already is,” Draco had told him, kissing him on his naked shoulder, “but let’s face it. We can’t afford casual. In a week or so, I will leave the castle, and we’ll see each other less and less.”

“I don’t want to hide anything,” Harry had agreed. “Since our time will be limited, I don’t want to be unable to bring you to Ron and Hermione’s or to avoid Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley.”

“So, we tell them,” Draco had nodded. “I realise that…” he had added, unsure.

“I know,” Harry had interrupted him. “This is too new. It feels strange to tell people that… it happened, when it’s only a day old.”

“We don’t have to tell them straightaway,” Draco had proposed. “We can wait a few weeks. See how it goes.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. But just to be clear... I don’t want this to be a secret. The moment we know for certain that we’re serious, I’m telling them.”

“Good.”

Afterwards, Draco had expressed some concern over Harry’s reputation, which frankly broke Harry’s heart.

“As if I care about that,” he had scoffed. “If people are going to judge me for being with you, let them. It’s about time they realise I’m human. And if they can’t see how much you’ve changed, and how good you’ve been to our community, well, fuck them.”

That, of course, had triggered yet another round. Lost in his thoughts, Harry almost walked into the giant doors of the Great Hall. Shaking his head, he realised he needed to be a lot stealthier if he didn’t want anyone to find out immediately.

“Morning, Headmistress,” he greeted McGonagall, taking a seat next to her. The high table was still relatively empty, with most of the teachers coming back at the end of the weekend. The new semester was only a few days away.

“Morning, Professor Potter” she said, her face buried in the Prophet. As she took a sip of her tea, she glanced in his direction. “Mmh,” she said.

“What?” Harry asked, self-conscious.

“Nothing. Took you long enough.” And then she pointed at his neck and promptly returned to her breakfast, entirely unfazed. Harry took a plate and used it as a mirror.

“Fuck,” he murmured. McGonagall shot him a warning look for his language. His neck was peppered with hickeys.

_So much for low profiles._

  
***

“So, McGonagall knows. Big deal.”

“I just hope she doesn’t try and give us ‘the talk’, for Merlin’s sake,” Harry grumbled, nuzzling Draco’s neck.

They had a long day. Draco had been busy with the final inspection all morning and afternoon. Normally, Harry would have kept him company, but after they realised that Harry’s presence meant snogging in alcoves and traumatising poor House Elves walking in at the wrong time, Draco decided to ban Harry to his rooms and work alone. Kingsley wanted him back to the Ministry by September 7th, and his deadline was fast approaching.

“What are you going to do? After this, I mean?” Harry asked him.

Draco stretched on the bed. He looked like a happy cat.

“Back to the office, waiting for the next assignment, I imagine.”

“I can’t believe I spent six years in school wishing you had gone to Durmstrang, and now I can’t stand the fact that you won’t be living here anymore,” Harry sighed, making Draco chuckle.

“I’m glad I didn’t go to Durmstrang. I hate red. Besides, you do know Floo powder exists, right? We’ll still see each other.”

“Yes, but…” Harry hesitated. They were hovering again on the “too much, too soon” line in the sand.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Draco said, surprising Harry. In the last few months they had really gotten to know each other extremely well. “What if…”

“And we…”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Harry elaborated, trying to sound as casual as possible. “You can’t live in Hogwarts if you’re not a staff member, and I can’t live anywhere but here if I wish to keep my job. It’s going to be complicated.”

“I know,” Draco sighed. Wherever this thing they had was going, it would be hard. Normal people in a serious relationship would move in together, but that was not an option for them. “We’ll think of something,” Draco concluded. “McGonagall would make an exception for us, maybe?”

They both stopped to think about that for a moment.

“No,” they said in unison.

“I could get a part-time job as a janitor, how about that?” Draco joked. “I would simply love being under Filch and a bunch of House Elves.”

“I bet you would,” Harry replied, poking him in his side. “Or I could leave my job…”

Draco turned his head. “You can’t leave your job. You love it.”

“If it’s the only choice…”

“You won’t, and that’s final.”

“Fine! Then what do you propose?”

Draco grabbed the covers and put them over the both of them.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we reach it. Goodnight,” he said as he hugged Harry tightly. 

 

***  


Draco was closed off. He guarded his feelings with a ferocity normally associated with Manticores. He also had more quirks than it was cute - he ate everything in a precise order; he became hysterical when he didn’t have any sweets; he slept precisely 7.5 hours every night. It was also clear that he had a mountain of unresolved daddy issues, and a fair share of mummy issues as well. He wrote to his mother daily and went to see his father every other week (he would’ve gone every week, but Narcissa had a right to see her husband, too). He was sarcastic, bitter and, on occasion, even snarky. Harry had never been in a better relationship. The last seven days had been some of the best of his life.

It wasn’t that Draco was perfect, or everything he’d ever wanted, not in the slightest. They were already at fight number three. But for the first time in his life, Harry found himself truly interested in seeing what they could become. Which is why it was so hard to let him go.

“I want to thank all of you,” Draco said on his last day in the staff room, ready to say goodbye to Hogwarts. “You have all made me feel welcome and accepted here, and my work has been as pleasant as it can be. As you can see,” and he pointed to a pile of parchment in front of him, “my job is now complete. I am happy to say that the castle is a safe, clean space, devoid of Dark Magic.” A light round of applause followed the last statement. Harry clapped enthusiastically. “As a final gift, I have given the school library a copy of this report, so that it can stay in its archives in case anything like this happens again.”

McGonagall rose from her seat, Summoning a dozen glasses of Firewhiskey. Everyone grabbed their own and rose as well.

“Mr. Malfoy, on behalf of the entire staff, allow me to express our sincerest gratitude,” she enunciated, her formal tone not quite covering her satisfied smile. “You have been a marvellous addition to this castle, ever hard at work, ever respectful. As a parting gift, there is something I would like to ask of you. In a year, Madam Hooch,” and tipped her glass towards said woman, who nodded in acknowledgement - Harry frowned, confused -, “will retire from a long and glorious career. Before I even start interviewing potential flying instructors, I wanted to make this very clear: should you desire it, the position is yours. Hogwarts would love to have you.”

While Harry and Draco sat there, stunned, the room filled with the noise of clinking glasses and loud “Hear, Hear!”

“Headmistress, I…” Draco began, flabbergasted. Harry knew him well enough to tell that he was touched and partly interested. If he weren’t interested, he wouldn’t be so flustered. Harry started to perk up.

“There is no need to answer now, Mr. Malfoy. Take six months. We know you are quite attached to your current job, and we have witnessed first-hand how efficient you are at it: but keep this in mind. The job as flying instructor is part-time. It would allow you to keep your job at the Ministry, with the sole condition that you live here in the castle.”

Harry blushed a deep red when everyone turned to look at them. Did everyone know? Had McGonagall told them?

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Draco replied breathlessly. “I will take it into serious consideration.”

They enjoyed a final round of drinks, and then it was time for Draco to go.

Harry had woken up with his stomach in knots, and the feeling was only intensifying as the day drew on. He couldn’t believe he was so scared at the idea of Draco leaving. They had already said their goodbyes the night before, but still… it didn’t feel right to just shake his hands and bid him goodbye as the other teachers were currently doing in the Great Hall. Given the late hour, the students were all in bed. As he shook his hand, Draco looked him in the eye with a meaningful expression. Harry could hear his words from last night.

“I’ll miss you. Don’t think me indifferent, not for a second. In front of everyone else I will have to be professional, but in my mind, I’ll be snogging you senseless.”

They smirked at each other.

He was still here, and Harry already missed him.

  
  
***  


_Dear Honeybooboo,_

_My place is a mess. I left one of Mother’s House Elves here to take care of it while I was gone, but all he did was let the place descend into chaos and anarchy. Have I ever told you about my place? You’d hate it. It’s a lovely cottage all decorated in black and white. It has exactly zero warmth, just as I like it._

_Alas, I had to restock the pantry, this wretched Elf let us run out of tea – the madness._

_I miss you, obviously. It’s been exactly twenty-four hours since I last saw you naked. Are you blushing? I hope you’re blushing._

_Mother is coming over this afternoon. I think I’ll tell her. Should I? Well, there’s no point asking, since your answer will not arrive in time, so take this as a fact: I’m telling her. I probably shouldn’t feel this nervous, by now she’ll have understood that I’m not into women, but you know, you’re Harry Potter. She probably won’t understand. She’s never seen you naked, though._

_You’re blushing again, aren’t you? Anyway, she was oddly touched when you sent her that note thanking her for the picture. She didn’t say, but I could tell that she was thinking “What a proper young gentleman.” That’s the way to get to her, you know: be a gentleman and always mention how well she’s keeping in shape. Shouldn’t be too hard for you, bloody Gryffindor and all._

_I slept magnificently yesterday, all the covers stayed in their place, nobody kicked me or woke me up with absurd demands of quickies, and I didn’t have to run to the toilet in a mad rush to get rid of my morning breath. It was a bit cold, though. You’re like a furnace._

_Shit, I miss you. I really do._

_And that’s it with the mushy stuff. When can I see you? I’ll let you know how it goes with Mother._

_Imagine me naked,_

_Draco, aka HoneyBunch_

 

 

_Dear Ridiculous Person Whom I’m Apparently Dating,_

_I can’t believe you told your mother. How did she react?! I tried reading your letter at dinner and I had to stuff it away for later, since you’re a horrible person who kept writing about sex. McGonagall saw me blushing – of course I did, idiot – and looked suspicious as hell._

_I miss you so fucking much. And you can’t hide it from me – I know you miss me stealing your covers. You prefer to sleep right on top of me anyway._

_Now that the semester has begun I can only get away during the weekends, you know. By the way, I need your address if you want me to see your place, you do have it connected to the Floo network, I assume?_

_Yesterday I swear the castle was in mourning. It misses you. It’s never been this safe and it is grateful to you. By the way – no pressure – have you thought about McGonagall’s offer? I know, I know, too soon – but I hate the idea of forever seeing you only during the weekends._

_I have to go now. Early start tomorrow._

_Imagine me horny and frustrated already,_

_Harry – aka Gryffindarling_

 

 

_Dear Sugarbutt,_

_I told her. It wasn’t easy, I must admit. At first, she thought I was kidding, then she realised I was serious and she got all… suspicious. As I suspected, she already knew I like men, and that wasn’t an issue. In the end, I think she understood, though. Let me reconstruct her line of thought for you:_

  * _He only wants you for your money (didn’t even answer, just laughed)_
  * _He wants to change you (no, Mother, for some reason he actually likes my bitchiness, turns him on – I didn’t say that last bit, breathe, Potter)_
  * _He’s doing it as a rebellious act (so rebellious, Potter, so much that McGonagall is actively cheering for us and the Minister would marry us himself if he could)_
  * _He will never truly accept you._



_The last one stung a bit, I must admit, but after I told her the whole story she seemed mollified. You should probably be expecting a letter from her, I think. She also swore she wouldn’t tell Father straightaway, and even promised she would broker the peace talks that would naturally follow my telling him. It’s no use, Sugarbutt, you’re such parent material. I bet Mother will love you and buy you couture before the year ends._

_Speaking of sugar butts, what are you wearing?_

_I miss you._

_Address is in the envelope._

_Draco, aka Sugarplum_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I have no doubt my son has told you, by now, that I’m aware of what has transpired between you two. Let me absolutely clear: you might have heard that Pureblood families – and my house especially – are fiercely protective over their children and that they have no scruples whatsoever when it comes to punishing those who hurt them. I wish to confirm the rumours. I understand that – given our history – you probably do not think me in the right position to say so, but I’m afraid I do not care. Draco’s wellbeing is of paramount importance to me. So, take this as a friendly warning: I will give you the benefit of the doubt, as will my husband, in time, I believe. But I will be keeping a close eye on you and I do sincerely hope that you know what you are doing._

_Cordially,_

_Narcissa Malfoy-Black_

_Sugarplum,_

_Your mum is scary._

_Scardoll_

 

 

Finally, the weekend. Harry wanted to see Draco so much it hurt. They had planned a nice Friday night, dinner at Draco’s place and then a show on Shaftesbury Avenue. It took a while to convince Draco to do something so Muggle-y, but eventually he had caved. Also, Harry was pretty sure the plot of Phantom of the Opera had intrigued him.

He got dressed, all jittery, thinking back with a shiver to Narcissa’s letter. In a way, he was glad someone other than Harry cared so deeply about Draco. In another, cowardly way, he truly hoped they avoided the nasty breakup that would inexorably result in him being hospitalised.

Finally, he decided it was better to arrive a few minutes early than to die of boredom and anticipation in his rooms. McGonagall had been notified of his absence. He was ready. Time to go.

He took a handful of green powder and stepped inside the fireplace.

“Asterbush House!” he enunciated clearly. The world spun for a second, and then he stepped out of a fireplace in a warm, cosy living room.

“Draco!” he shouted, warning him he had arrived. “I’m here! It’s early, I know…”

No sooner had he finished his sentence that he found himself on his back on the carpet, Draco on his lap and his mouth assaulted by a bruising kiss.

“Finally,” Draco gasped, grabbing him through his robes. Harry gasped and reached for Draco’s arse to anchor himself. They were both already half-hard. “I’m afraid this will be very savage. I’m in no mood for finesse after almost a week without this.” Draco waved his wand and all of a sudden, they were both naked. On the carpet. Also, Harry’s hand was slick.

“Hurry,” Draco urged him, taking his hand and guiding it to his backside. Harry breached him, making them both groan. He could tell Draco had been doing this to himself, and the idea sent a delicious shiver down his spine.

“Is there anyone who could walk in?” Harry panted, not wanting to traumatise more House Elves.

“No one at all,” Draco reassured him. That was what Harry needed to hear, and with a swift movement and a slight angling of Draco’s hips, he entered him, burying himself to the hilt.

Once again, they got lost. Harry touched everywhere he could; stroking his hair, his chest, his lips, pushing his hips up and down and revelling in the sounds coming out of Draco’s mouth. He was already about ready to come when Draco lifted his torso and started riding him, _hard_. His eyes rolled back inside his head, gripping his hips with uncontained strength. Draco panted and panted, but seemed unable to come, not until Harry’s hand started stroking him. In a matter of seconds, they both had come, and Draco collapsed on top of Harry.

“So…” Draco managed to say after a while. “That’s that.”

Harry laughed so hard his sides hurt.

 

***

 

In the end, they managed to eat their dinner and get to the theatre just in time. As they walked down Shaftesbury Avenue, holding hands, they kept exchanging wicked looks with each other.

“Stop that,” Harry admonished him. “I don’t want us to end up in the bathroom, missing half the show.”

The musical was amazing. Draco’s eyes never left the stage for a second, which Harry counted as a win. It wasn’t every day you got Draco Malfoy that interested in anything – except sex.

They came out of the theatre in a daze, their heads close together as they decided to grab an ice cream.

“Diagon Alley or Muggle London?” Harry asked.

“Well, going to Diagon Alley holding hands would be practically like telling the whole world, which we’ve decided to forgo for now. So, let’s see what passes as ice cream in the Muggle world.”

And then, of course, out of another theatre walked Ron and Hermione.

Harry’s mind quickly ran through their possibilities: they could run and hide, Hermione hadn’t seen them yet…

“Harry?!”

And there went their chance. Ron and Hermione – both in elegant attire – looked at them, flabbergasted, as if they couldn’t believe they were seeing Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy casually holding hands in public.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered.

“Did you plan this?” Draco asked, his eyes narrow with suspicion.

“Of course not! Shut up, here they come…”

Ron and Hermione now stood in front of them. They weren’t even making an effort to mask their shocked expressions.

“Harry, what the…”

“What are you doing here?” Harry interrupted Ron. He was caught unprepared. He had planned to sit them down and explain everything carefully. He didn’t want to justify himself on one of the most crowded pavements in all of London.

“You know I love the theatre, we came to watch Hamilton, left Rose at Molly’s,” Hermione explained, looking between Harry and Draco, urging them on. “What are you doing here?”

“We watched Phantom of the Opera,” Draco announced unhelpfully. “Potter and I are friends now…”

“Friends don’t hold hands, mate,” Ron growled. Harry decided he had enough.

“Okay, fine, calm down,” he sighed. “Draco and I are seeing each other. It’s new, and that’s why I haven’t told you yet,” he added, as Ron opened his mouth with a sour expression, “but, I was going to. Soon. Now, how about we all grab an ice cream together, so you can get all of your questions out of the way?”

“I don’t want ice…”

“We’d love to,” Hermione cut her husband short, sending him a warning glance. She had the same determined look she got every time she had a mystery to solve. Harry could just picture her going to the library and searching for "Inexplicable love stories – why is my best friend shagging his mortal enemy?”

The trip to the parlour – a quiet, secluded little spot near Soho – was interminable and impossibly tense. Ron almost walked into traffic three times, busy as he was staring daggers at his best friend.

Finally, they reached their spot, ordered their cones and sat down.

“So, how long?” Hermione started, her tone forcibly amicable. Ron stabbed his triple cream scoop and looked at them defiantly.

“Ok, first of all, can we drop… this?” Draco asked, pointing at Ron’s murderous stare.

“Answer her question,” Ron growled, evidently not caring.

“He’s right, Ron,” Harry snapped at him. “It’s been a couple of weeks. We spent the summer working together, and we… well, it happened. The day we got rid of the Horcrux.”

Hermione nodded. “I’m sorry, I just had no idea you even liked…”

“Yeah, me neither,” Harry interrupted her. He really didn’t want his sexuality to be a major point in this discussion. “It just happened.”

“Okay, I think you’ll understand that as your best friend, it’s my job to threaten your choice of partner with death in case he ever hurts you.” Ron didn’t seem to able to stop growling. Harry was quite sure he was toying with his wand inside his sleeve.

“Okay, can we please…” Harry whined.

“Oh, really? Did you give the same talk to, oh, I don’t know, your sister?” Draco asked in a challenging tone. 

“My sister was never a Death Eater!”

“Okay, that’s it!” Hermione shouted in her piercing voice. Everyone in the parlour turned to look at them. A couple of mums with strollers seemed profoundly distressed. “I think we are all missing the point here. Harry, are you happy? I won’t ask if you trust Draco, because I already know the answer to that.”

“I’m happy,” Harry said, grateful to her. Draco let out his breath, like he feared what his answer would be. Under the table, Harry caught his hand. “Maybe happier than I’ve ever been.”

“We really did mean to tell you soon, but it’s so new. I told my mother only yesterday,” Draco added.

“Oh, how did she take it?” Hermione asked, leaning forward, curiosity painted all over her face.

“Better than we expected, actually,” Harry smiled nervously. He turned to look at Ron, who had been staring at his melting ice cream for a full minute now. “Ron, mate, I need to know you’re okay with this. I know it’s unsettling, but I hope nothing deeper is going on.”

“Ron,” Hermione said, gently nudging him. “You know Draco’s changed. You know he’s making your best friend happy. I think you owe him the benefit of the doubt.” Harry and Draco exchanged a glance - those were the exact same words Narcissa had used.

Ron didn’t answer immediately. “Fine,” he eventually said. “But you’re on probation, Malfoy. One wrong move…”

“And what? You’ll prank me to death?” Draco asked. Harry could tell that despite the scathing tone and the slight jab at Ron’s line of work, he was already mollified.

“You’d be surprised what a few choice Weasley’s products can do,” Ron replied in earnest. Harry sighed and leaned back on his seat. The storm was avoided, for now.

“Well, since we seem to be in a sharing mood,” Hermione said, casually looking at her nails. “I do have some news to share. With all of you, actually.”

“Huh?” Ron grunted.

“I’m pregnant.”

Harry and Draco spent the whole way home giggling and saying “His face! His face!”

 

 

***  


“This feels wrong,” Draco whined that night, kissing Harry again and again. Harry sighed. He had to agree with him.

“I know. I really want to stay.”

“Then stay!” Draco tried to convince him for the umpteenth time. After a whole day together, the prospect of Flooing back to Hogwarts and spending the night alone in his rooms seemed less and less appealing.

“You know I can’t,” he reminded him yet again.

“There are no explicit rules that state a Professor can’t spend the night away from the castle. I mean, it’s implied that you have to live there, but a night or two…”

“You have been researching this,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows. He was flattered and a bit turned on that Draco would even look it up, just so he could spend the night with Harry. Draco scoffed and pretended not to feel self-conscious about it, but Harry could tell. “I know there’s no rule, but I have to supervise Quidditch practice early in the morning, and I really wouldn’t want to test McGonagall so early in our relationship.”

They were both downcast. After their rendezvous with Hermione and Ron they had been so giddy that they had returned straight to Draco’s place and made a mess of the poor sofa in the living room. The idea of parting ways now was – there was no other way to put it – just plain wrong.

“Next weekend I’m sleeping in your rooms,” Draco grumbled, toying with the clasp of Harry’s cloak. They were pressed together head to toe, trying to soak in each other’s presence before being brutally separated.

“Next weekend you’re sleeping in my rooms,” Harry agreed, smiling, stealing one last kiss.

The moment he exited the fireplace into his office he felt overwhelmingly cold, and wondered how could it be that he got to this point when six months before he would have just sneered at the mention of Draco’s name, and now they got upset because they couldn’t spend the night together. Mechanically, he went through the motions to get ready for bed – he only had a few hours before dawn, and the Quidditch team expected him at 7 AM on the field. The new captain was adamant that they play early, since the last practices had been constantly interrupted by hordes of girls – and boys – who had the hots for a member of the team. Harry imagined – for a second – Draco, in the stands, cheering for him. He wouldn’t have, he told himself: Draco would have never worn Gryffindor colours and would have never cheered on the Gryffindor team, not in a million years. But perhaps, perhaps, he wouldn’t have actively rooted for the opposite team. Now that he actually knew him, he could imagine him, standing there, wearing black, watching the game and keeping a close eye on the Gryffindor Seeker, sending a small smile his way every now and then. Then Harry would catch the Snitch, and wouldn’t be able to stop himself from looking down and searching for Draco, triumphantly throwing his arm in the air. Draco would then probably do something embarrassing, like a wink, or maybe just a smirk. He was the kind of person who preferred to give out his rewards in private.

Harry had been staring at a random point for about five minutes, lost in his fantasy, his toothbrush still in his mouth and toothpaste dripping from his chin. Smiling, he shook his head and went back to getting ready for sleep. Merlin, what he wouldn’t give to go back in time.

And then his bathroom door banged open and a blond fury marched straight towards him.

“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck, sorry,” was all the warning he got before Draco attacked his mouth.

“We really need to talk about these sneak attacks of yours,” he panted in between kisses, both of them already throwing clothes in every direction. He couldn’t believe he was getting hard again.

“No, we don’t,” Draco growled, clawing at his naked chest and leaving red marks behind.

“No, we don’t.” Harry gave up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, first of all, THANK YOU. Your comments and kudos for the last chapters actually turned me to mush and now I'm writing to you in semi-liquid form. You have no idea what this all means to me, given that this is the first time I've written anything this big in English and that I've had writer's block for five years or so.  
> Secondly, I'm sorry this took so long, the chapter was actually already written - has been for weeks - but I needed to edit it and I've been bedridden with the world's worst case of the flu. So pardon any mistakes, 'cause I'm not exactly out of it yet.  
> There are a few things that JK left to our imagination, like the teacher's lodgings and the situations with spouses and even children. I don't know what those rules are, so I made them up. I tried to make them as credible as possible.  
> The last chapter will be the epilogue and this time I haven't written it yet, so bear with me, it may take a while.  
> Again, thank you for your feedback. Go to bed smiling and knowing you've made someone extremely happy! And thank you akablue for Beta Reading!  
> Zuz XX


	8. Chapter 8

“Draco, I swear to Merlin, either you hurry the fuck up or I’ll…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Father held me up, he’s furious.”

“We don’t have time to deal with your psychotic father. Now, let’s go!”

“Ok.”

Draco was paler than usual. Harry absent-mindedly thought that he was about to become translucent, pale as he was to begin with. He grabbed random items from their rooms and threw them in a bag, too agitated to even use his wand.

“Do we have everything?” Draco asked, scanning the room with a worried look on his face.

“Reckon we do,” Harry mumbled, checking inside the bag and rustling around. “I’m sure Ron and Hermione will pick up anything we might have missed. Now let’s go.”

“They have enough on their plate,” Draco replied, shaking his head. “Oh! Give me a second, I need to drop a line to McGonagall, I was supposed to be in class tomorrow morning…”

“You can write to her from there, and I’m sure someone else can teach first years how to fly for once. Come on, grab a handful.”

Harry practically pushed Draco in front of the fireplace, waving the vase with the Floo powder under his nose vehemently. He was under the impression that Draco was stalling. Harry might have been the more nervous-looking one, but Draco was a professional emotion-concealer. Deep down, Draco was scared shitless.

“Okay, okay… here, I’m going, stop hovering.” Draco stepped inside the fireplace. “St. Mungo’s!” he shouted. In a whirlwind of green flames, his husband disappeared.

Harry hurriedly went after him.

 

***  
  


“In case you were wondering... this.”

“Huh?” Harry grunted, confused, turning to look at Draco. They were sitting on the rigid chairs of a waiting room and had been for the last 30 minutes. They were growing antsier by the minute.

“This. This is what I wanted to avoid. The interminable wait.”

“Well, sorry, but it’s no sacrifice considering what’s happening on the other side of that door,” Harry pointed out, frowning. “Hey,” he added after a second, already softening at the sight of the nerve-frazzled Draco. He grabbed his hand. “How are you doing?”

“Honestly?” Draco asked, squeezing his fingers. “Terrified. Mother has a binder of ideas, Potter. A binder. And father is still furious.”

“Let me deal with Narcissa, you know she loves me,” Harry smiled, nudging him. Draco reluctantly curved his lips as well. “But why is your father angry?”

“He said we should have waited for him to come out, that six months is not that much to ask.”

“Oh, I see,” Harry nodded. Honestly, they had thought about it. But they hadn’t known that Lucius was going to pass the programme this time. It was his third time, after all. And they couldn’t wait three more years. “We’ll try to involve him as much as possible once he gets out. Any other objections to… this?” he asked, pointing between the two of them.

“Nah, you know him,” Draco reassured him. “He’s always dropping hints and pretending to disapprove, but he’s a pragmatist at heart. He loves how much me being married to the Chosen One has re-established our public image.”

Harry laughed. That sounded like Lucius, indeed.

“Has it happened yet?!”

They both turned abruptly towards the door, which Ron and Hermione had just burst through. They looked exhausted and sweaty.

“No, don’t worry,” Harry replied easily, pointing them towards the empty chairs at his side.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Hermione sighed, plopping down heavily. “Hugo didn’t want us to leave. He threw a tantrum.”

“The screams,” Ron murmured, his eyes haunted. “The screams.”

“You’re not helping,” Harry snapped, glaring at them. Draco looked about ready to faint.

“How long will it be?” Hermione asked, shaking her head, evidently trying to calm herself down.

“We have no idea,” Draco replied. “We’ve been here forever.”

“Just half an hour,” Harry clarified.

“The longest half hour of my existence!”

Harry rolled his eyes. Why did he have to pick such a dramatic husband?

“Do you have everything, mate? Need us to run a quick errand?” Ron asked, leaning forward to put his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“I think we’re good, thanks,” Harry replied.

“Besides, last time we asked you to bring us something you brought us the world’s most terrible wine.”

“Oi! This again! The bloke at the shop said it was the best one they had!”

“Of course, if by shop you mean a Muggle grocery store just outside the underground…”

“Harry, can you please tell your husband to shut the hell up?”

“Draco, Ron, behave,” Harry deadpanned, acutely aware of how his intervention would amount to absolutely nothing.

“Next time, you bring the wine…”

“Of course I’ll bring the wine, you can’t be trusted with anything of importance.”

“Excuse me? Excuse me?!”

“Excuse me?”

They all turned abruptly. A tired looking woman wearing a Mediwizard robe was standing in front of them, curiously looking at the two bickering figures. “I thought you might want to know… it’s a girl.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other. Ron and Hermione gave out excited gasps.

“Would you like to meet your daughter?”

  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
  


Leah looked exhausted, but satisfied. She welcomed them with a huge smile on her face.

“Not to boast, you two… but I think I’ve made you a masterpiece.”

Draco quickly went to hug her, as delicately as he possibly could. Leah had been an angel with them. After having two children with her husband, and deciding they didn’t want any more, she had agreed to enter the list of St. Mungo’s altruistic surrogate mothers. After two years of discussions, preparations and doubts, they were finally there.

“We will never be able to thank you enough, Leah,” Harry said, his mouth dry.

“Don’t,” she said, patting Draco on the shoulder. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m so glad to have done this for you. And speaking of happiness…” she pointed behind them. They both turned.

And there she was, in the arms of a Mediwizard. Their daughter.

“Harry…” Draco whispered. He had tears in his eyes.

The man, smiling, put the little bundle in Draco’s arms. Harry’s heart broke a little at how delicate and insecure Draco was in holding her, turning a desperate look towards his husband, silently asking if he was doing it right. Harry walked over and looked down.

Yes. For some reason, he recognised her immediately. That was their daughter. He could see both of them in there. She looked like a tiny little human being with rosy cheeks and stubby fingers, yes – but he could already see a hint of Draco’s upturned nose, there, in that little curve. She had Harry's jet-black hair. He couldn’t wait to see the colour of her eyes, but they would have to wait for that.

“She’s…” he said, finding the words he came up with inadequate.

“She’s not a Lily Narcissa,” Draco finished for him. Harry turned to look at him.

That was the name they had agreed on in case of a baby girl, but all of a sudden, he could see Draco was right. The name was all wrong.

“Any ideas?” he asked softly. He touched one of her chubby cheeks, and she leant towards his fingers. He had no idea his heart could feel so full.

“Well…” Draco said, rocking her softly. “Both their names are flower names. Any other flowers we might like?”

“Aster.”

They both turned and saw Hermione smiling at them. She and Ron kept their distance, hovering at the door, beaming. “It means star, and it’s a flower too.”

Of course, if anyone knew something like that, it would be Hermione. They looked at each other.

“Both traditions,” Draco chuckled. “What do you think?”

Harry bent and lay a soft kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “That’s her name. We found it.”

“Welcome, Aster Potter-Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. is. so. cheesy. 
> 
> Okay, first of all: WOW. I am so sorry for making you wait so long on the epilogue - I have been swamped, really, I couldn't find the time to sit down a few hours and write this down.  
> Secondly, I am overwhelmed with the response this fanfiction got. This being my first work after years and years and also the first major thing I've ever written in English, trust me, I did not expect it. I am happy, humbled and so excited.  
> Third: the epilogue really is a short, overly-sweet thingie. I'm sorry. I have been trying for weeks to figure out how to make it less cheesy and how to expand it, but truth is, this is how I envisioned it for the beginning. I'm a sucker for happy endings and this is what I wanted for them, they've had enough drama.  
> Oh, and yes, in the magic world I headcanon that it's possible to have the DNA of both fathers mixed in. I wanted them to see both of themselves in the baby and MAGIC, so, whatever.  
> I once again thank you all for the kudos and especially the comments, really, you have no idea how much I enjoyed reading them. Your comments give me life.  
> I hope I'll write something again soon, but truth be told, I'm afraid the well is once again dry. I just hope it won't take me 5 more years to find the courage to write about what I love.   
> Finally, big, big thanks to akablue for Beta Reading this entire fic. I am so grateful to you. 
> 
> I wish all of you a happy Sunday and a lovely life! 
> 
> Zuz XX

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> So, after a paralysing 5-year writer’s block, I found myself writing this. It was soooo fun. I had never written anything so long in English, so please have, it’s not my first language, but I tried my best. Oh, and the title comes from As Long As You’re Mine, Wicked.  
> Also, the story is almost complete, so if you do read it you won’t have to wait long for updates. I think I’ll have 7-8 chapters or so. Comments and constructive criticisms would make me very happy, and thank you already if you’ve reached these notes!
> 
> PS: I would like to thank akablue for Beta Reading this chapter. Thank you so much!!


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